Wake Me at Dawn
by acertainphilosophy
Summary: After a horrific incident, Edward is left with no one to turn to but the Mustangs. Not only do they have to deal with the struggles of the incident's aftermath, but imminent war with Drachma. Through all of this, they try to maintain sanity and forge some sort of family out of the madness. Maybe. Parental!RoyEd, implied Royai
1. Chapter 1

Golden eyes shifted open blearily at the watery dawn light shining starkly through the thin, stylish curtains. Edward blinked a few times to clear his vision, and groaned. He turned over to look at the small analog clock on the bedside table. Five thirty. Why did the sun have to be up so freaking early in the summer? He'd gotten barely enough rest to support even this much consciousness, and even so he knew that he wouldn't be able to go back to that beautiful haven of sweet, numb release that was sleep. At least, if he didn't have any dreams it would be pleasant.

The nightmares never left him.

He made a guttural sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh and lurched into a technically upright position. Toast. Yes, toast would make everything better.

He swept the hair away from his face, where it was plastered to the skin by sweat. It had gotten even longer, not that he really cared at this point. It went to the length where it didn't really make a difference whether it was long or _long. _His bangs, strangely, remained the same length regardless of the passage of time. He pulled it up into a lazy ponytail with a tie from the bedside table and pulled his legs over the side of the mattress. The air outside of the covers was cold from excess air conditioning and made him shiver in his official summertime sleepwear. Okay, so he just wore boxers. It counted. He sat there for a moment, not thinking about anything in particular and not wanting to.

It would be another slow day.

Edward took a deep breath and rose from the softness of the mattress. It was a sad departure that made him long for nighttime to come again. He had to mentally sever himself from the warm, reaching tendrils of remaining sleep as he stepped away. The next step in the process was to get dressed. Meh. He'd gotten used to the air enough by now. Later. He would do it later.

Toast was the goal right now. He bypassed the closet and instead confronted the door to the hallway. The hallway was darker than the bedroom, with less windows. A split second of further investigation revealed that it was colder as well. He shivered heavily. Maybe it was wrong to skip dressing. Too late. The decision had already been made. With only a thin cloth covering his crotch and upper legs, he wandered out into the shadowy hallway. It was like an adventure.

He closed the door to the bedroom and watched the strip of light that came from its opening get thinner and disappear completely. After the earlier sunlight was removed, it proved to be much more difficult to navigate the darkened hall. Finally, he found the stairs, having only bumped into two walls and the banister. One of those was a particularly hard slam to his right foot, and he had to muffle the stream of curses that exploded from his mouth. Luckily not much sound escaped. Crisis averted.

The stairs were, in Edward's opinion, too long. Who needs that many stairs? A slide would be much more efficient. On the way down. On the way up, well, that was a work in progress. Even so, a slide would be more merciful to his already damaged leg. Stairs were a difficult thing to master.

After the stairs of doom trek, he made a right turn and found the kitchen. The lights were off, but a strange white glow filled the room. He went inside. Someone had left the refrigerator door open, probably since last night. So the freaking cold ass air was not completely attributed to the unnecessarily heavy usage of air conditioning after all.

The temperature became nearly unbearable as Edward came closer to the fridge. He didn't know if it was possible to get frostbite in summer, and didn't want to find out. What if he lost his other arm and needed even more automail… He chuckled to himself. That would be awkward explaining to Winr- _Ouch._ A sharp pain at the back of his head shut down the thought process completely. He lifted the hand that had been traveling to close the fridge and rubbed his head with it instead. What had he been thinking? Something… He couldn't remember. Another thought lost to the void.

He shrugged and shut the refrigerator with a soft whooshing thump. It resonated a bit in the quiet two-story house. Edward turned away from the fridge and really listened for the first time since getting up. A couple mockingbirds were going off like mad in the tree out front, and the air conditioner and the refrigerator provided quiet and constant background noise. Otherwise, the place was perfectly silent.

No one was awake, which was odd. Usually _someone _around the house got up early to do something important. Important things. He used to do those. For now, though, his mission plan consisted entirely of toast and, now that he thought about it, a restroom. He grabbed bread and placed butter and a knife neatly beside the toaster before putting it in. One slice would do. He groped around for a second and turned the light on to the lowest setting, too late in the process to actually make a difference.

Without anything more to do, he stood there lamely, tapping his fingers on the countertop. The cold didn't really bother him that much anymore, although he still missed his bed dearly. He remembered that it was still unmade but dismissed the thought. The constant whir of the air conditioning was soothing the sudden headache and calming to his ears. His breathing slowed, and he got into a more comfortable position leaning against the counter. If he shut his eyes for a while, it wouldn't really matter. They closed. He felt his head slowly dropping and resisted at first, but gave in to it after a few attempts.

His mind wandered to places he wasn't keeping track of, and soon went blank.

_Pain. So much pain. He couldn't endure much more of it. None of it mattered. Al. That name. He was crying suffering dead numb help, no, no no no no…_

_Sproing._ Edward's eyes flew open simultaneously as his muscles flew into action. He wouldn't be hurt any more. His fist flew out blindly toward the enemy, followed by a sound kick to a lower area. He found purchase on something hard that collapsed as his foot left it. Good. He could take anything, as long as he could fight-

Oh. He looked around. He had attacked the oven, the toast and the butter dish on the floor, both in pieces. The butter had landed contents first, of course, and- _Oh._ There they were, in the entrance to the kitchen.

Roy. Riza. Both with looks of mingled shock, concern, and, below that, tired annoyance. He messed up. Again.

"Uh. Hey, Mustang," he tried sheepishly. The annoyance was more prominent now that they knew he was out of the delusion and uninjured. Edward didn't blame them. These things happened far too often for his patience, as well.

"Edward," Riza started toward him with unending sympathy and tolerance. He still hated it when she got all motherly after an incident. He'd been the one to wake them up; they should have been yelling or something.

Looking at Roy, it seemed as though he might get his wish.

Roy, predictably, didn't yell, but communicated his feelings through a silent glare. Edward got it immediately. Neither of them wanted to wake Isaac.

Edward had been living at the Mustang residence for four years. He understood how things worked, at least, to the best of his mind's ability. The first rule was that Isaac should never be deprived of sleep. _Ever. _

Riza was rubbing his back in a calming motion as he stood stock still in the kitchen, trying to return Mustang's glare with his own. Just because everything was technically his fault did not mean that he would let Roy win. It didn't happen. Roy rolled his eyes and was about to leave when Edward's head exploded. It was one of _these. _

He crumpled to the ground, cradling his head. It felt as though a boulder backed by the brute force of Armstrong was coming down on his skull. Which was splitting into a thousand pieces and cutting into his exposed brain. He vaguely registered Riza shouting his name or Roy rushing in to his side. He also realized that he was screaming. And crying. And then he passed out.

* * *

Edward woke up back in the bed he never bothered to make. His head was nestled safely in the pillows, remnants of the attack still echoing around in his skull. He was glad it was over, even if he couldn't remember what had started it. He never remembered what happened before they started. Only that it was painful.

A warmth was coming from his side. Nestled there was Isaac, still wearing the footy pajamas with the trains from the night before. He must have climbed in after Edward was put there. Edward took the quiet moment to look at the young boy's face. His hair was black and straight, but his face had the soft lines and large sherry eyes of Riza. He had Roy's nose. A perfect mix of the two. There was something about him, though, that was so very _Isaac_. It was in the open innocence of his face, the soft smile that came even in sleep. Something his parents seemed incapable of, certainly.

Edward smiled at the boy. He'd known him from the time he was born, seen his face grow and change. It was contenting and nostalgic somehow.

Isaac's little brow furrowed and a small pout formed on his lower lip.

"Shh, shh. It's alright, little guy. It's just dreams. I get them too, don't worry. Shh," Edward whispered nearly silently to the small bundle next to him. He reached out and rubbed a finger against the small ear. The lines smoothed and the toddler fell back into peaceful sleep, smiling even more largely than before.

Edward sighed. It was his job to make sure that Isaac was safe. A self-appointed job, sure, but a job nonetheless. And that included nightmares.

**-philos**


	2. Chapter 2

Edward bolted forward in the bed, launching the blankets off of himself and nearly past the foot of the bed, only one corner hanging on to the mattress while the rest fell haphazardly to the floor. He panted heavily, in and out, in and out, staring wildly around the bed but not seeing anything. He continued to do so until his senses returned somewhat, which took more time than it probably should have.

He breathed deeply a few more times, trying to get a grasp on his surroundings. Right. He was in the room with the dark hardwood floor and light blue walls. The guest bedroom. He should have called it his room by now, he had lived in it for over three years at this point. The room that had been given to him by Mustang. The room certainly looked like Roy's guest bedroom. Plain but stylish, with grey accented curtains and furniture, a full size bed against one wall. Edward shuddered to think about what had been done on that bed before he moved in, when Mustang entertained for his more … _rambunctious_ crowd on the holidays.

The blinds were pulled tight and only allowed a thin trickle of light through a crack near the bottom. It could've been any time of day with the evidence given, but he knew that he hadn't woken up in the middle of the night now. His skin was clammy and cold, as he was still wearing the boxers from before. Thinking about that, he realized that he had no idea how much time had actually passed since then.

Going by the track record for these incidents, it could've been anywhere between a few hours or a few days. He didn't particularly care which it was at the moment.

He became aware of an emptiness at his side. The cold there had more to do with a sudden lack of warmth than the cool air in the house. Something was missing… Isaac. Isaac had been there before, he remembered, and he had left recently, judging by the cold he was getting from the heat pulling away from his side. He hoped that the boy hadn't been there to see what must've been a thrashing night terror. Day terror. He rolled his eyes at himself. Same difference.

Edward had no trouble getting out of bed this time. He leapt up, the covers being thrown back already, and went to search for Isaac. No matter how much determination filled him, however, he still shivered as his feet hit the hard floor. Seriously, no place should be this cold in the dead of summer.

He trudged to the door and threw it open, somehow managing to thrust the inward-opening door into his own foot.

Several choice words muttered severely into a bitten fist later, and Edward was on his way down the stairs, looking for any sign of a small child. He knew exactly where Isaac would've gone, but was hoping that he might pick a different, and easier to reach, place this time. His left leg never worked right anymore and the universe clearly had something against his right one.

But, no matter how hard he tried to come to some other conclusion, it was clear that the toddler was in the same place he was every time he needed to be found.

The nook.

The Mustang house used to belong to a rich nobleman before Roy bought it seven years ago with a military promotion. The house was built under the direct order of the nobleman, who was very suspicious about enemies that might want to steal his wealth. He was so paranoid that he had the entire house outfitted with countless secret passages, hiding places and hidden vaults. Edward happened to know that Roy had bought the house for this very reason, and took advantage of a few of the vaults himself. He had a theory that Roy really just wanted to fool around with the passages, which he was obviously utilizing at parties. The man Roy bought the place from, the last time he heard, was now living in a remote location to the south, hiding away in a one-roomed bunker eating nothing and drinking only pineapple juice he squeezed himself with his feet. There were some real nuts in Amestris.

One of the secret passages was hidden in the long staircase that connected the building's two sizable floors. Although this was no ordinary under-the stairs closet, no. Of course it couldn't be that easy. No, the nook was on the side of the stair structure _at the top,_ about fifteen feet from the wide, glossy hardwood. How Isaac had found it, let alone get up there, let alone do so every time without being seen, Edward had no idea. He just knew that it was a real pain to get up there to get him.

He glanced around a few more corners before he gave up. There was never really any doubt to begin with. As quietly as he could, he pulled the bookcase ladder out from the library, around the corner to the wall that made the staircase. The ladder slid soundlessly on well-maintained wheels, and fit up against the wall with not so much as a thud. He took a moment to be satisfied with his work. Practice made perfect.

Tackling the climbing part of it was an entirely different matter. His left leg prosthetic didn't bend very well – actually, it didn't bend at all – and his right was still injured from two hazardous ventures down the cursed stairs. Slowly, he managed to rise upon the ladder, lifting his left leg onto the next rung and then raising his entire body up to equal height, repeat. Five cycles, nine, ten. It soon became methodic in its rhythm and easier to bear with its repetition. Before long, he'd reached the top.

There, in the wall was a small handhold, big enough for three fingers and no more, thus being nearly invisible from the floor. If one looked closely enough at the wall itself, a faint outline could be seen there, about a two-by-three foot rectangle that could easily be mistaken for an old painting placement taken down. The craftsmanship that went into the hiding place was nearly flawless.

Edward hesitated a moment before pulling the hatch open. He hadn't considered what it might've been for Isaac to see him… in that state. It could be that he didn't want to see Edward at all.

He nearly blanched at a sudden thought. What if he'd scared Isaac? The kid was still only small. Small like Ni…n… And Al-

Something snapped in his head. There was a moment of quiet, numbing absence of any thought in his head, before the pain. Splitting pain that filled his every cell and ripped him of any remaining coherence of mind. It was gone it was all gone. Gone gone gone gone gone. It was only that word. It meant nothing to him in that moment, but it resonated deep within his skull, crying out with some long lost importance. Gone gone gone. Gone from him, gone forever.

No more. A new pain shot through his head, shocking him out of whatever sort of trance that had been. He sputtered and looked around rabidly, searching for any detail that could reveal where he was or what he was doing.

Right. The ladder.

Surprisingly, he hadn't fallen off the ladder completely. His false leg in all of its unbending glory had gotten wedged firmly in the ladder as fell, catching him and forcing him to hang upside down fifteen feet in the air. Not a desirable position, but preferable to having his brains splattered onto the floor below him.

A shifting sound overhead drew his attention. He strained his neck to see directly above. Isaac was looking down at him from the nook's entrance, his face a mingled look of confusion and curiosity.

Relief filled Edward to see the child. He breathed out a sigh, celebrating the moment. If Isaac was scared or didn't want to see him, he would've hid somewhere else and most certainly wouldn't have opened the hatch.

He smiled largely at the boy.

"Well I guess I lost the element of surprise, didn't I? And here I thought I could sneak up on you for once!" he laughed. Isaac's face lit up, smile instantly morphing all of his small features into delighted relief. The boy had been scared for him.

"Ed!" Isaac shouted down to him in joy, and made to climb out of the hole.

Edward hung loosely from his precarious state on the ladder. His leg would clearly need some serious persuading before it could be removed from the rung in which it was wedged. Hopefully Isaac wouldn't see that-

_Crack. _The sound was loud and sharp, and rung out through the hall, stopping Isaac dead in his tracks and changing both of their expressions from drunken happiness to pure lethal shock. Edward hesitated only a moment before his limbs began moving automatically, arm raised to protect his head and flesh leg braced against the ladder.

Half a heartbeat later and the ladder was falling, bringing Edward's body closer and closer to the hard floor below.

He was still in his underwear.

**-philos**


	3. Chapter 3

There was a moment when nothing made sense. The only thought Edward's brain could muster was that he didn't want Isaac to see if his head exploded on contact with the ground. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he should be able to do something, anything, to stop this. He could move. He could…

There was nothing. Nothing but the air rushing past as the ladder toppled and the floor coming closer and closer to his head, nothing but the imminent crash below.

His eyes, the whole time, had stayed open, watching the scene tilt and tumble around him. He could see the floor, now a mere few feet from his face, and approaching rapidly. He closed them. It didn't do much good in this situation, but it prevented the shock from moving into panic.

It occurred to him that he'd had all these thoughts in much less time than it took normally, as if time were slowed. It was so familiar to him, this feeling of deceleration in tricky situations. He'd been in this sort of dilemma countless times in the past. So many times that he faced certain death and found the right move to escape with his life. It was laughable, really, that after all that he would be done in by a falling ladder and a stuck leg. Of all the stupid odds.

He could feel the ground like a force below him, his senses going wild with adrenaline. It was gone, and soon he would be too. Whatever that meant.

The expected blow came with swift vengeance, but not to his head or arm. No, it came in at his side. The blunt force against him was softer than expected, too. His direction changed suddenly, twisting violently to the right. It shook his head around with the impact, causing his brain to ricochet off the walls of his skull.

The room continued to spin and shake quite violently, but when he opened his eyes he saw that the movement had stopped. He shook his head to try to get oriented, but that only made what was sure to be a concussion of some sort even worse. Ouch. Not a good idea.

So he looked around, trying to get some sense of what in the hell was happening.

Edward sat several meters away from the ladder, tumbled into a ball on the floor. But what…

The next sight was only as shocking as it was predictable. Roy Mustang sat hunched over on the floor to his right, trace amounts of well concealed panic already receding from his face.

"M-Mustang! What're you-"

"Fullmetal! What the hell were you doing? What, I can't leave you here alone, _at home_, for five minutes without you nearly killing yourself?" Roy's lecture, though it was really not much louder than a normal talking level, felt like it was being shouted into Edward's face. The man's usually calm façade held true, but this seemed to hold more anger than usual. And that was saying something.

Edward stared at his former superior. He still called him Fullmetal when he was upset with him. Fullmetal. The name stung with guilt now. The name he had in the military was condemned after he left, but it still held that old familiarity and purpose. He had no wish for it to be his again.

Roy looked at him expectantly. Right.

"Well, you know Colonel, it would be great if you didn't blame me for your _clearly_ faulty ladder. Honestly, the thing was a deathtrap to begin with. I mean, what kind of ladder doesn't even hold a person for more than, like, four seconds? Really, Mustang, I'd say that that was a cheap buy if I ever saw one."

Ah, there was that irritated quirk behind the mask. It felt nice to see it again.

"Faulty? _Faulty_, Fullmetal? You were the one doing acrobatics off of it!"

"The specifics of it aren't important. What's important is that your ladder nearly killed me!"

"Oh, I see, you must've been too short to reach the next rung and had to make that pathetic stunt to get higher. Unfortunately, it seems to have failed-"

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING SHORT, YOU BASTARD?!"

There was a pause.

Roy laughed outright, and after a moment of irritated silence, Edward joined.

Their voices came clear through the space, reverberating just loud enough to fill the air around them. It was brash and quiet and careless and exactly what they needed in that moment. Their laughter provoked the reentrance of Isaac. His voice quieted them, but traces of the release remained across their faces.

"E-Ed? What happen?"

The toddler peered out from the nook above, concern written all through his knitted brow. His eyes wandered cautiously to the scene below, probing the broken ladder and the floor around it with their frightened innocence.

"Hey, buddy, don't worry. We're all fine down here." Edward reassured the boy, putting a smile into his voice.

Isaac's gaze met the two still piled on the ground. His features untangled and he started laughing with his silvery infantile giggle, and soon the whole party broke out into gleeful sound again.

Edward couldn't say how long it lasted, only that it felt so good to just let go. He couldn't even remember why they started in the first place, and for some reason that made it all the more hilarious.

So when Riza came home from a long day at the office, wondering if Roy had actually done any of the paperwork she'd sent him home to do, she entered to find Roy and Edward laughing like lunatics on top of each other on the floor with a broken pile of wood (was that the ladder from the library?) just feet away, and her two year old son in a hole in the wall more than a story above the ground.

It definitely would make for some interesting dinner conversation. At least, after they'd all been scolded severely. Then quieted with the end of a pistol after they snickered while said scolding occurred. It was more docile than they were used to around here.

Roy moved from his spot on the ground to help Edward up, and it was only after he started moving that Edward realized Roy's hand had been on his shoulder the whole time, steadying him after the fall.

Edward sat there on the floor, staring blankly at Roy's extended hand. Roy waved it around in his face, standing above him. Edward blinked and pushed it aside, getting up carefully, depending mostly on his right leg.

Looking down, he saw exactly why. The prosthetic had not come out of the fall unscathed. The fake leg was broken nearly in half at the ankle, having got caught in the ladder during the crash. It was very blatantly not going to be of any use to him until it could be repaired. Somehow.

He felt an arm fall around his shoulders. The weight alarmed him, and his head swiveled around in surprise. His eyes met immediately with steely dark ones. Their edges still played with the laughter from earlier, although even Edward could see the seriousness and concern that Roy was trying to cover up.

"Come on, let's go. Riza's already displeased enough," he said, still hinting at humor.

Edward groaned, but used the support anyway and they left together into the dining room. Riza had already managed to get Isaac down from the nook and into the kitchen to wash up before dinner.

At least Edward knew what time it was, finally.

IEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIE

Roy was seated at one end of the rectangular table, which was only large enough to fit the four of them comfortably. This was, of course, the family dining room. They had a larger dining hall for parties and such, but it was hardly ever used anymore. These last few years had really tied them up, especially with all the additions to the family. Roy had gone from living completely alone, save for a few of his, er, _courtiers,_ to living with three other people in less than half a decade.

It terrified him.

The small table sat one to a side, Riza and himself at either end and Ed and Isaac between them.

It was small enough so that it still felt like an intimate family time, but they each held their own territory of the table, a placement that separated and distinguished each person. Want to see some adorable shenanigans? Look left for Isaac. Gaze upon the beautiful face of his beloved? Straight ahead.

Now, however, he stared firmly to his right. The diminutive golden haired boy filled his sight and mind.

Edward's face seemed troubled beneath his casual bored-at-dinner face. He had nowhere near the mastery of the façade that Roy possessed, and should really know better by now than to try to cover it up. In the past, Roy would've let this slide, assuming that Edward had his own reasons for masking his feelings. However, living with the boy for three years taught him otherwise. Edward was known to push his emotions down until they consumed him, boiling over or just fizzling out altogether. Roy decided to wait on it, though. The day had been dramatic enough as it was.

He looked closer at the boy.

He'd heard people say that when you live with someone or know them very well, you often skip over their appearance and simply don't notice how they might be changing. For Roy, this was not the case. He saw Edward every day for these past years, and still nearly every day even before they'd started living together. But he never stopped _seeing_ Edward.

The boy was sixteen now, though still not much taller than a pre-pubescent. His hair, over the years, had lost its shine and became dull and pale. The fact that it had gotten much longer didn't help the appearance of his height. He rarely bothered to tangle it into a braid anymore, favoring a simple ponytail at the back of his head, if he did anything with it at all. Roy couldn't help but notice that he let it cover his face more and more often, concealing any range of emotions that Roy didn't want to guess about.

There was more than a change in hairstyle, though. And the rest of the differences hurt Roy to see. It was startling, really, how much Edward had changed since being lodged with the Mustangs. Roy could only hope that the rule of familiarity applied with Riza and Isaac, because he himself could barely stomach the sight.

Edward's skin, firstly, was pallid, if not blatantly ashy, even in the warm light from the modest chandelier hanging above. The glow formed pale shadows across his face and upper body. The bones that shown underneath were disturbingly skeletal, stretching the skin like canvas over their ridges. His face was thinner now, too, and couldn't quite compare to the vibrant liveliness that it held so long ago. That fire, the energy, was depleted with his frame, and to Roy it was almost as if he was missing an old friend.

How foolish. Roy chastised himself inwardly. Edward was right there, in front of him. Looking nearly pissed off at Roy for staring at him for so long. He was right there. He wasn't gone, and he was still the same person. Still Ed.

But deep in his heart or soul or whatever, Roy knew that Edward had changed. The old Edward had leaked out of his cracked frame years ago, leaving only a nearly hollow shell of who he used to be.

But it couldn't be like this forever, no, Roy would make sure of that. He would make Edward better.

He started by breaking his gaze away from the increasingly angering pipsqueak and looked down to the boy's plate.

"Eat your vegetables, Fullmetal."

Ed gave him a death glare before returning to his plate, pushing the greens around with his fork and muttering darkly about creepy flame bastards.

Roy allowed himself a smile at the superiority of his mask, stern voice and all, and the pleasingly disgruntled reaction it earned. He still had it. He was quick to direct his smirk downward to his own plate, disguising it with a forkful of potato.

Keeping his head down, he shifted his eyes to look over at Riza and Isaac. She was leaning over to Isaac's portion of the table, helping him manage his juice. Even from that position, it looked like she had somehow caught his brief smile because she met his gaze evenly and rolled her eyes. She turned back to Isaac hastily, though, because somehow in the two seconds she'd been looking away he'd spilled juice on his white undershirt.

Roy grimaced. Juice. In what they now called the legacy of Edward Elric, Isaac had somehow picked up on the milk-hating trait. Roy had cursed Edward's name countless times before, and it would be on his head if Roy's son grew up to be just as miniscule as the Fullmetal midget over there.

The stain was not coming out of the shirt, he saw, and Riza looked about to give up on it. With a few more avid scrubs, she sighed and opted instead to pull the garment over the boy's head and roll it into a ball, presumably intended to go directly into the wash after dinner.

Of course, if he'd had milk, this wouldn't be a problem.

Riza rose from the table with her empty plate and the shirt, signaling the end of the meal. Roy's eyes went to Edward's plate. He nearly groaned. The boy hadn't eaten half of what was there.

He was sitting there with his head on one hand, dragging the fork lackadaisically through what was left.

Roy leaned over to his side and plucked the fork from his hand, lifting with it a heaping pile of potato. Before Edward could say anything in protest, he shoved the entirety of it into the boy's open mouth.

His eyes widened in shock as his nose crinkled up, but his surprise thankfully made him swallow the mouthful at once. Of course, it was maybe a little bit more than he could handle.

Roy stood above Edward's doubled over, coughing form, keeping his composure beautifully.

"There you go, Fullmetal. You're off the hook after that bite. You may leave."

Roy then turned and left, taking his plate with him to the kitchen. Riza was waiting there for him with a reprimanding look. Roy returned it with his I-had-no-other-choice eyes and she turned away from him, although he could see the beginnings of an amused grin on her face.

He stared then at the mound of dishes that built up in the sink over the past week. They'd both been too preoccupied to really get to washing them until now, and the hot summer air wasn't much more motivating. It took a while to wash all the dishes, with Riza working efficiently and Roy working not so efficiently to the point where it was actually detracting from her work effort. After half an hour of this, she finally sent him out of the kitchen to let her work alone.

Now that he was dismissed from dish washing, he wandered out into the foyer with nothing really in mind. He stood there for a minute, just enjoying the calm. It was good to finally have some time at home, now that he was allowed to bring some of his desk work from the office. He was high up in ranks now, promoted to General three years ago. Heck, if it hadn't been for his military placement or a select few well-wrought connections in the government, he and Riza wouldn't have been able to be married at all, let alone live together with a child. It was nice, to finally be able to breathe freely when it came to his relationships outside of work.

His thoughts brought him to actually sigh in relief out loud, leaning now against the staircase. Which reminded him, he'd need to get a new library ladder after that incident today.

He shook his head to rid himself of the image of Edward falling. The gut wrenching terror he felt as he saw that fragile body fall so helplessly to the unforgiving ground, limp like a ragdoll. Eyes closing so slowly, as if he'd already accepted it.

Roy knew one thing for certain: Edward Elric could not give up. It was a fact. So those golden eyes, closing so very slowly, that was what put more fear into his chest than anything else.

Then there was the broken prosthetic. Roy had no idea what they could do about that. With the Rockbell girl unable to service Ed's limbs anymore, they'd been reluctantly relying on cheaper made replacements from a city near Central. They wouldn't be available to make Edward a new leg any time in the next few months, as the owner was visiting some other city in the desert for an extensive trip to 'better learn the craft' or something. Automail was quickly becoming a dead industry as of late, so their options were limited to say the least.

Roy then remembered the implications of Edward's broken leg. How he'd left him, practically on the floor in the dining room.

He was soon speeding around the corner to the dining room to search for signs of life.

The room was dark when he got there, which (probably) bode well. Sure enough, Ed was nowhere to be seen, floor or otherwise. It looked like the kid had somehow made it up the stairs already. He gave the room another once-over, and found that Isaac was gone as well. Hopefully they were both upstairs.

Only one way to find out.

He had to consciously make his movements slow and deliberate as he ascended the flight.

Halfway up, he heard voices emanating from above. This was reassuring, and he felt himself smile when he heard his son's gentle laughter.

He could laugh like that only around Edward.

The rest of the stairs went by on much lighter feet, and he was soon at the entrance to the bathroom. The sound led here. The door was closed, but the commotion inside was unmistakable. Roy was glad that they'd finally learned to get ready for bed by themselves. He stood outside the door for a minute. They were quieter now, as if they could sense Roy just beyond the boundary. Suspicious.

Roy cracked the door, and peered inside. The boys' heads were turned away from the entrance, so at least he could still have some confidence in his stealth. From what he could see, Isaac was sitting on the counter next to the sink and Edward was on the floor. The latter was mostly concealed by the door, with only a sheet of loose golden hair and the shoulder of a large black t-shirt in view. Huh, so the kid actually _did_ know how to get dressed. That was surprising, given that he'd worn nothing but boxers, sweatpants and wife beaters for the past two weeks.

He saw the shoulder lurch forward. From their positions, it looked like they were examining something on the floor opposite to Roy. Edward had just gone to… pick it up, from what he could tell. The boy leaned back with something hefted in his hand.

Roy's curiosity got the better of him and his spy session was over. He pushed the door open fully, which creaked yet for added effect. Both of the room's inhabitance twisted around in alarm. Now he knew something was up.

"What's happening in here?"

Their wide eyes searched his face for anger, and finding none, invited him closer to see whatever it was that had them acting so peculiarly.

Roy stepped forward into the small room apprehensively. When he got close enough, he leaned over Edward's shoulder, which was still blocking his view of whatever held their attention.

He looked into the boy's left hand, where held a large screw between two thin fingers. Roy looked at them in confusion.

"A screw, Fullmetal? What is this?" He moved forward to get a better look at it, putting a hand on Edward's shoulder. He didn't seem to mind the contact.

Edward parted his lips to answer, but Isaac beat him to it.

"Ed help me brush my teeth, then he went BOOM down to the ground and his leg went _chinkachink_, and then it broke more. And I told him not to use it, 'cause it was already really broke," the toddler explained in tilting, uneven syllables, pitch reaching impressive heights on the sound effects.

From what Roy could gather with the sketchy explanation and avid hand motions, Edward was trying to use his broken leg, like an idiot, and managed to destroy it more than it already had been. Just great. He stood up and sighed, closing his eyes.

"Hey, I was only using the knee to balance a little. Just a little! And it fell apart entirely on its own. I didn't even use it to get up here," the teenager huffed in defense.

"Yeah, we play mountain climb the stairs!" Isaac giggled out, shifting around a bit on the counter. He did not seem to be concerned with the current predicament any longer.

"Well, how broken is it?"

"Uh," Edward responded helpfully. He moved around with some effort and managed to drag the prosthetic out from under himself. Roy stooped closer to investigate.

Geez, it was worse than he'd expected. The thing was completely shattered off at mid-calf, with longer cracks running up and down the length of it. It made an uncomfortable rattling sound as he moved it. Edward adjusted it a little so Roy could see it better, and several more parts spilled out.

"Oh,"

"Yeah, 'Oh'." Roy put a hand to his face in exasperation.

No matter how long it had been, this just never got any easier.

What was he going to do?

**-philos**


	4. Chapter 4

Roy plucked Isaac up from the counter and held him close with one arm, acting casual. He turned again so that Edward was nearly in front of him, adjusting the toddler into a neater position against his chest.

"So how far did you actually get in your night work before you, ah, fell like an old woman?"

Edward's face was clearly not amused.

"The hell, you bastard… I mean, yeah, Isaac's done with all his stuff. He only needs to go to bed now." Edward readjusted his speech with a quick glance at the toddler. Roy, of course, did not appreciate the slip and returned the statement with a reprimanding glare.

Even so, Edward's words proved true as the boy's head slumped against Roy's shoulder and his eyes struggled to stay open. They fluttered closed only to shoot open again before shutting entirely. A gentle snore came out in almost the same instant.

Roy sighed. At least there would be no war in getting him to sleep tonight. Sometimes he would refuse to even think about sleep without Ed there with him, and there were times when even that wasn't enough. Two nights ago, the same day Edward had had one of his episodes in the early morning, was one of the hard nights. Edward, being in his passed-out state, could not come for Isaac in the night, and eventually he just climbed into Edward's bed by himself and slept there.

Roy thought that maybe this could be problematic, but, by Riza's phrasing, 'As long as he's not crying, leave him be. I'm tired, you're tired, and he's finally asleep. That is good enough for me.' So it looked like it turned out alright.

He nodded at Edward, leaving him on the floor (again), and carried Isaac from the bathroom. Isaac's room was the smallest one, at the end of the hall. It was directly next to Roy and Riza's, and two rooms away from Edward's. Roy entered the room, which was still decorated fully with little bears, and plopped the sleeping toddler into his tiny, railed-in bed. He righted himself and cracked his back, wondering when the little bundle had gotten so heavy.

At least one of the boys was eating right.

He took one last look at his son before switching on the bear-themed night light and gingerly shutting the door, making sure to leave it just barely ajar. The boy liked a sliver of light coming into his room, and the ability to open it by himself in the night. Given his parentage, it wasn't surprising that he liked to have some control.

He went to go back to the bathroom to assist Edward, who knew what he was trying to do in there alone, but first made a stop in the hallway. He needed to turn the air conditioner up a bit. It was a blazing summer outside the house's walls, the hottest they'd had in over a decade. Roy liked heat, sure, he was the Flame Alchemist, but in moderation. Really, it was unbearable for everyone.

With the temperature modified satisfactorily, he could continue down the hall.

He came back to bathroom and yanked the door open abruptly. Apparently, Edward had not been expecting a sudden visitor.

He was balanced carefully on his right leg, left raising to the side in an attempt to stay upright. In one hand he held a large bath towel, moving it around wildly on the sink. That was when Roy noticed the water. It was everywhere. The floor, the counter, the sink. Edward. He was sopping; hair, clothes, everything.

"The sink… The sink kind of – broke, and, I swear it was an accident! But now it's kind of everywhere, and just… Just help me with this," Edward let out in a garbled stream. He struggled to contain the fast-spilling water as it sprayed like a geyser from the broken sink tap.

Roy hesitated a moment, unsure whether he should rush in to help or just point and laugh. While the second option was amusing… That was his sink tap. Which he would have to take responsibility for eventually.

He grabbed a towel off the rung and came in closer, but Edward obstructed his path. He was not in any position to move to either side with only one leg, so Roy made do and put his arms around the smaller, reaching for the tap.

It wasn't so broken. He and Edward were able to stem the flow with their combined efforts long enough for Roy to seize the head of it from the counter and reattach it. The water stopped. They both watched for a second, then sat back in relief. Too much relief. Edward fell backward and Roy had to catch him, thankful that he was standing behind the boy. But Ed turned immediately, on reaction, and shoved him away, pushing himself into the sink. Oof, that was his spine…

Edward recovered quickly and opted to sit down soundly on the floor, seemingly oblivious to what had just happened. They were both entirely soaked. Edward huddled in his too-large t-shirt, now plastered to his skin, and shivered slightly.

Roy leaned back on the edge of the tub, eyes going from Edward back to the sink. When it was certain that the porcelain enemy would not resume its siege, he spoke.

"How… _exactly_… did that happen?"

"Well, I, um, _tried_ to use the faucet… and fell… and my arm swung around... so it broke you fixed it and here we are."

"Honestly," Roy grumbled, leaning forward on the tub. It seemed as though every bad turn had to have a lasting effect that led to another bad turn. It had been this way for too long now, even before the ladder or the leg. It all stemmed from that time three years ago.

Roy inwardly grimaced and pushed the thought aside. It was not something he needed in his mind right now. Or ever.

He took a breath and stood, addressing Edward again.

"What have you done so far? I suppose there's no need for a shower," Roy said slyly, noting that Edward's appearance resembled a drowned kitten more and more by the minute.

With a rather ticked off expression, Ed replied.

"No, I guess not. Maybe we should do this instead of showering more often."

They both cringed, though smirking.

"So I really did nothing in here but break the sink," he admitted plaintively.

"I'm shocked."

"Oh, like you get anything done, either," Edward shot back. "Where's all that paperwork you brought home, Mustang? Right, sitting untouched on your desk. You pen is shouting 'Help me, Mustang, help me, I need to be used!' and the papers are probably so high that your office could just be called a library of unfinished work."

Edward drabbled on in an overly dramatic mocking tone, ridiculously high pitched and theatrical. Roy almost rolled his eyes.

"You're worse than Riza, albeit without a gun pointed to my head. But really, I think I'd prefer her barrel to your ridiculous voice. What, did you never hit puberty, Fullmetal? That would explain why you're so unbelievably stunted."

"YOU BASTARD COLONEL! I'M NOT SHORT!"

Roy gestured dramatically to Isaac's room with a finger to his mouth, which may have been smirking slightly.

"You bastard Colonel," Ed repeated in a hushed jab.

Roy waved him off.

"Get moving, Fullmetal. I haven't got all night here."

Edward grumbled and stood to brush his teeth, balancing carefully this time with one hand on the sink's edge. Roy hovered nearby, ready to come in if the boy slipped. Judging from recent events, his balance was not to be trusted. A great revelation, given that said terrible balance was possessed by someone with just one leg to work with. It was a good thing that Roy could work from home for the next few weeks.

Most of the bathroom work went by without incident, until there was only one thing left. And that was arguably the worst. Edward seems to realize this and inched away from Roy a bit.

"So that's all done then, I'll be off. Bye-"

Roy pulled him back from his awkward one-legged shuffle and placed him directly at his side.

"Fullmetal, your pill."

"Oh, come on, Mustang, one miss won't hurt anything," Edward pleaded.

Roy went about this with the 'tough love' approach, one he favored greatly, and silently opened the medicine cabinet. He refused to look at Edward's face as he pulled the pill bottle from a middle shelf. The bottle was almost empty. He'd have to get it refilled soon. He twisted off the child-proof lid with practiced ease and plucked out a disk-shaped white tablet. It was average sized, for a pill, and supposed to be administered every twenty-four hours with water.

The thing had a sedating effect that made the panic attacks and anxiety less, but it also muddled the brain and caused drowsiness. And, Roy now remembered, impaired coordination and balance. Even with the side effects, it was still worth it.

He continued, still keeping his gaze confined to what he was doing, and poured tap water into a paper cup. Whew. The tap still worked. It was only when he finished everything he could possibly prepare that he turned to the boy.

Edward had once again concealed his expression with a curtain of yellow hair. He no longer resisted the pill, though it became routine for Roy to help him swallow it. It wasn't that Ed was incapable of taking it on his own, but the experience had always been demeaning to him and, no matter how much he would deny it, he felt reassured by Roy's presence while he was reminded of mortality and the problems with his own.

Roy waited patiently for Edward to come over to him. He always did. It was at least some control he could have in this situation.

After a short hesitation, he walked slowly forward until he stood directly next to Roy. Roy lifted the pill and he took it from him, lifting it to his mouth and swallowing heavily. Roy stood close through it all.

It was over. Roy returned the bottle to the cabinet. They left the bathroom in comfortable silence, partly because both of them would rather not talk about the pill, and partly because Isaac and Riza were both sleeping by now. Roy helped Edward to his room with a hand at his elbow to make up for the useless leg, and took him to his bed before they parted.

Roy was about to leave when he heard a drowsy murmur from the bed. The medicine was already taking effect.

"G'night, bastard."

"You too, Ed."

And with that, he left the boy in darkness.

IEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIE

Edward hated waking up after the pill, especially when he'd gone dry for two days beforehand. It made him feel woozy and bleary, and certainly not in the mood to deal with a still-damp t-shirt and bright sunlight. He rolled away from the irritating glare and pulled a pillow up over his head. It smothered his nose a little, but he didn't care enough to readjust it.

The blankets had actually stayed on while he slept, which only stood testament to how well the medication knocked him out. It was, admittedly, good to sleep through the night without wild nightmares, and the blankets kept like a shield between his moist shirt and the cold environment outside.

It was going to be another slow day.

**-philos**


	5. Chapter 5

Edward rolled over to his right side to make his left leg, or what was left of it, more comfortable. His right arm sprawled out next to him, fingers he couldn't feel clutching a small, red rubber ball that he couldn't remember getting. He looked on at his arm. It was a weird feeling, not being able to feel anything from it. He could still utilize it and it functioned decently, but it was more of an extension of his body than a part of it.

The arm was spread out to its fullest reach, partially under the bed. His current position gave him a full view of the bed's hidden underbelly, which was most definitely not as clean as it was before he'd gotten it. Clothes were shoved underneath, along with several books that had gone unnoticed from the downstairs library and a few stray hair-ties. He felt a sudden tingling in his nose and sneezed tremendously. Apparently, there was a lot of dust below there, as well.

The jarring motion of the sneeze made him realize that his back was very much in disagreement with being against the hard wooden ground, with an ache that ran all through his side and neck. He sat up with a small grunt, abandoning the ball to the abyss as it rolled from loose fingers. It was no fun, anyway. All he'd been doing for the past half hour was throwing the ball against the closet door and watching it bounce back. He could do without ever seeing that particular ball again.

He sat cross-legged on the floor and rolled his neck around, but the crick in it refused to release. He sighed. There would be a knot there all day now. Or, rather, the remainder of the day. It must've been at least past noon by now, but he hadn't left his room all day. The leg really was just too much trouble to deal with today.

He put a hand to his face. If he hadn't been drugged, he would've had the strength to face this problem. It was stupid how much they messed with his brain, and he couldn't do anything to prevent it.

That was enough to get him to stand up, using the bed for assistance, and balance carefully on his right leg. He would go downstairs today. He couldn't let anything control him like this, especially not a tiny little tablet from a bottle. He was bigger than that tablet. He could break that tablet, be stronger than that tablet. Itty bitty, miniscule little tablet. _He_ wasn't small. Haha, stupid tiny tablet.

This thought process powered his journey to the door, as he edged along, leaning on various pieces of furniture in the room. He could make it to that door. One more push off of the dresser and-

Oof. The world spun around as his balance gave out, and suddenly he was on the floor again. The first thing that registered was the pain shooting daggers through his head. He vaguely remembered the near-concussion with the ladder incident. It only made his head hurt worse.

His back and neck screamed in protest at being forcefully reunited with the floorboards. He could feel the ridges of his spine and shoulder blades where they connected with the hard surface, cold through his now mostly dry shirt. The plain white ceiling filled his vision, giving his mind nothing to distract the discomfort.

He lay there for a moment, trying to reorient his brain, because it seemed like the whole room had taken up gymnastics. Geez, even the door was moving… No, the door actually _was_ moving. It swung open (hitting Edward's shin, mind you) to reveal a very unamused Roy.

Or, at least, he seemed unamused. Edward had to really concentrate on his face to try to piece together exactly what expression he was making. It was difficult to say because his nose was currently floating around somewhere on his forehead.

"Hey, Colonel. H-" Edward's voice halted, much to his disgust. "How's it going?"

"Should I even ask anymore?" Roy said in a voice filled with exasperation, mostly to himself.

Well, that answered the question of his mood.

"So, why'd you come up here, then?"

"With the noise you were making up here, there was no way I could work at my desk in peace-"

"And by work you mean sleep," Edward interrupted fluidly. Roy eyes read pure annoyance. Edward rotated his hand, indicating that he should continue. Roy did not seem to take the hint, or, more likely, he had had it with Edward's shenanigans at that point.

"So," Edward prompted. Roy took it.

"So your chaotic crashing up here, which was strangely reminiscent of some _other_ events, recently, was heard even in the basement, so I-"

"Was sleeping,"

"And will stop telling your short self how obnoxious you were being if you don't stop interrupting."

"You B-"

"Oh, would you get off the floor already, before you start yelling, Fullmetal. Being so near to the ground isn't really helping your cause."

Edward continued mutinous muttering as he rose slowly from the floor, using the dresser drawers for assistance and ignoring what might've been an outstretched hand. Finally, he was standing in front of Roy at the fullest height he could manage.

"Hm, nope. Still not much of a difference. Sorry, short fry."

"Short fry?! SHORT FRY?! I'LL- _Isaac_, hi, buddy,"

Edward stopped short (no pun intended) when he saw Isaac peering in through the doorframe. He was decked out in jeans and a t-shirt, knees and elbows muddied and grass-stained.

"Ed, I been outside. I sorry you couldn't come," Isaac said bashfully, prodding at the floor with the toe of his sneaker and looking down at his wrung hands.

"Nah, it's no big deal. You go outside whenever you want, okay? I'll just have to be stuck in here with Mr. Grumpity-McCan't-take-a-joke while you're gone."

Isaac laughed. Roy nearly smiled as he watched the exchange. He looked like a giant standing next to his son, and lifted the small boy into his arms. The resemblance between the two was more obvious when they had their faces next to each other's, black hair mingling between them and becoming undistinguishable from one another. Isaac's face was definitely cuter, though.

"Daddy likes jokes! See!" Isaac turned his head, stuck his tongue out and crossed his eyes, making monkey noises. Roy chuckled rather unexpectedly.

Edward knew his own smirk looked strange, but couldn't help it. This was the same tactic he'd used countless times to get Isaac to laugh. The boy was growing into a fine young man. If there was one thing Edward could pass on, he was glad that it was his maturity.

Roy and Isaac's mirth was slowly dying down, giving more attention to Edward. He realized that he was shaking slightly on his precarious stance.

"How about we all go down for some lunch?" Roy suggested almost cheerfully. Wow, today really was a weird day for him. He offered a casual arm to Edward and he took it, if only to prevent himself from falling immediately. He soon regretted that decision, however, as he was dragged roughly from the sanction of his room and down the dreaded stairs.

Isaac led the way on his surprisingly quick little toddler legs, Roy following close behind with Edward still latched onto his arm. The kitchen was not as cold as the last time he'd been there, which, now that he thought about it, was about three or five days ago. He rubbed his head. Maybe it was a concussion after all.

Roy deposited him into a barstool, head still reeling, and lifted Isaac onto the counter next to him.

Edward took a minute to readjust, and then looked up at Roy across the kitchen. And laughed. The man was fastening a ridiculous polka-dotted red apron with little flame decals on the sides around his waist. Edward would let this one slide. Better jokes would come later.

"Alright, you two. What do you want for lunch?"

"I didn't know you cooked."

"Of course I do. Why would you think otherwise?"

"Well, Riza normally does all the cooking, or we order something. I haven't seen you cook once in my life."

Roy took actual offense to this.

"I have to be able to cook, because Riza won't be here to cook for us during the day all summer, now, will she? I've cooked for myself plenty of times before! … A couple of times before…"

Edward raised an eyebrow.

"Just tell me what you want."

"Ham sandwich!" Isaac burst out in between them.

"Sure. You just watch, Fullmetal, this is going to be the best ham sandwich you'll ever have."

The Flame Alchemist turned to the fridge and got to work, pulling out ingredient after ingredient. Edward was sure that half of them had nothing to do with sandwiches at all. A few confused minutes later and Roy was presenting them with their lunches. It was what looked to be a black, foul-smelling crisp topped with soggy bread and an unidentifiable vegetable thing on the side.

"We're all going to starve, aren't we?"

**-philos**

**Note - More or less Isaac in the story? Please tell me how much you do/don't like his inclusion, so I can decide on what to do with him. **


	6. Chapter 6

After Roy's disaster in the kitchen, they'd cleared out the smell with some trouble and over the course of the next half hour figured out how to order lunch from a nearby restaurant. It was almost dinnertime now, anyway, but Roy got grumpy if he went without at least two meals a day. Roy, of course, did not bring this up when questioned, rather turning away and 'hmph'ing coolly. That was a clear foreboding of future grumpiness, so they continued the order without further complaint. Edward looked down at his food, chewing slowly and silently. He could hear Roy and Isaac sitting in their usual spots around the table, doing the same.

The food couldn't have come quick enough. When it did, it was taken abruptly from a startled delivery man, brought inside and put on the table. Roy remembered a moment later to reopen the door and shove a crumpled payment out into the man's chest, who was still standing there in much the same state that they'd left him. Then the men descended upon the meal. It was a wild thing to witness. Edward was glad that they'd calmed down enough to eat now at the table. He sat patiently, listening to the quiet noises the other two made as they ate but not really wanting anything else for himself. His head still hurt.

The bay window that took up most of the wall behind him was open for once, and the day outside was grey and dreary with a full cover of heavy clouds low in the sky. Probably humid as all heck, too, this time of year. The watery light flooded down into the room in front of him, accentuating the steel grey walls with cool bluish outdoor light. He could see his own shadow on the table and his plate, darkening a thin figure that mirrored his own. He could see that his hair was an ungodly mess, falling around his shoulders and sticking out in a million other directions. His hands unconsciously rose to tie it into a braid, but the tangles proved to be too worthy an adversary and he gave up within moments. It took him some time to even get his fingers unwrapped from the mass of hair.

It wasn't like he was going out anytime soon. Ha, he'd never cared about what he looked like even when he had been allowed to go outside, and now that he was in the confines of this house he felt self-conscious about it. It was either a testament to his maturing age or to just how far his appearance had degraded that he would start to mind it. If it was the latter, and he was suspecting that it was, it felt rather pathetic.

Now that he thought about it, he must look awful in other places than his hair. He never slept well, never went outside, never bothered to wash properly. He never _felt_ well. He didn't change his clothes often enough or get up to move around often enough. Hell, he couldn't remember the last time he'd looked into a mirror. He couldn't remember even seeing any mirrors at all.

He sat up a little in the wooden chair, lifting his back from the support. That was strange. Why hadn't there been a single mirror in the Mustang house? There never had been, that he could recall. And with _Roy_ living there, there definitely should have been at least one mirror somewhere.

Edward's shoulders slumped. It could, no, most likely had something to do with him. He was the problem. He was always the problem. But why, of all things, keep his appearance a secret? He knew what his face looked like. Or, at least, he _thought_ he knew what his own face looked like. He could remember, in the back corners of his mind, how his eyes were gold and his hair was gold, how his skin was slightly tanned, face slightly round but with a definitive jaw.

His hand rose, unsure, to his cheek, fingers lightly grazing over its surface, probing for anything unexpected. He didn't know. Even if that had been his face, it surely wasn't now. The flow of time was certain to have swept up some of these features, blurring, changing. His face would be different now, after the majority of his teen years had passed, and his skin would be paler from all the time he spent inside. If that was all that had changed, he would be grateful.

But what if the face in his memories was not his at all? The hair matched; it was the only part of himself he could see anymore. But there were many faces in his mind. Faces that could not be explained, faces that felt like they should be important. What if one of those was his face? What if what he thought was his face was really just another figment? He couldn't know. He had no way to know. It wouldn't be anywhere near the first time his mind had played games with him. He could never know.

He started breathing heavily. He felt a panic attack coming, one of the slow ones. The kind that came by a series of events or thoughts rather than one single trigger. He hated this kind worse. He knew it was coming on, could feel it slowly taking over his functioning, but could do nothing to stop it. It was like standing on top of a glass platform, with crack after crack breaking into the surface but having nothing to prevent more cracks from appearing. You know that once it cracks too much, it will break and you will fall through to the dark abyss below, and there is no way to stop it. Crack. Crack. Inevitability saturates the moment.

The air was coming in jagged, rushed gasps now. He could see his vision hazing, and hoped that he would just pass out from oxygen deprivation. That would save everyone some trouble.

The sound of his exhale inhale exhale teemed through the air in the dining room. Roy's head shot up, only looking at Edward for a millisecond before acting. He jumped up from Isaac's side, where he'd been feeding the toddler, and bolted over, practically launching over the table. Edward barely registered the movement, hyperventilating worse yet and leaning in on himself. He clutched his hands to his shoulders, rocking back and forth slightly. He couldn't recall what had set it off anymore, just the pain and fear of what was inescapable filling his mind. Then there was nothing else. He was stuck. Falling into his own head, deeper and deeper. Visions came and took over. He was gone.

_Alphonse. That was the name. That was the face. Where was Alphonse? Brother. He was his brother. Where was he? The little brother he loved and protected. He should be taking care of him, someone, Who was it again? The face, kind little eyes, and then a suit of metal. The armor from both his most gentle dreams and his most vicious nightmares. It hurt him. There was pain pain pain gone gone gone gone. There was nothing._

Gentle eyes came into view. He started for a moment, but quickly realized that these were not the same eyes. They were not… Were they? He couldn't think of them anymore. The image was gone, to be replaced with Isaac's open face. The boy was staring down at him from above, which led to the discovery that he was lying down. It was a dream. An attack.

"Ed. You okay now?" Isaac's voice was apprehensive, which immediately sent Edward spiraling into guilt. His fault.

He grinned and muttered some reassurances, but Isaac's quick acceptance and sudden swing back into happiness made his smile more authentic. The boy sprung up from Edward's torso, emptying them of air quite efficiently, and stumbled over to the wide French doors.

Edward saw that they were in the library, now that the face had moved away from his view. He'd been lain carefully across one of the older brown couches. He was grateful for this, because those were the most comfortable and would not cause his aching body any more stress. It had gone through enough in the last few days.

He knew, this time, that he was only out for a few hours. He could feel that much. It was in how his muscles restarted, the grogginess of his brain. Yes, this one was small. And he probably hadn't even attacked anything this time. Probably.

Isaac was gone already, Edward saw, as the heavy door was shut clumsily from the other side. He was likely going for a game of hide and find, which was initiated regularly and without announcement. It had become a sort of ritual for them, to play the game after something had gone wrong. Something was usually either recovering from going wrong or in the process of going wrong, so it happened frequently enough to be commenced without warning. It had originally spawned from the hidden passages in the house, and how convenient they were for the game. It was fun, even with only two participants.

The hideaways certainly made the game more interesting. Even after years of playing the same game, it was constantly changing. They had not yet discovered all of the secrets that were held in and beneath its walls.

Edward grinned in earnest as he sat up. He could finally do something he enjoyed.

He sat up fully and launched himself off of the couch. Only to have the smile promptly removed as his face made contact with the floor. Right, the damn leg…

He heard soft malicious chuckling from the corner of the room. He lifted his poor head from the ground. Upon closer survey, it was made clear that one Roy Mustang was seated calmly in the corner of the room, waiting to scare the shit out of unsuspecting passerby from a brown leather throne. Or recliner. Roy's cool and heavy-weighted presence made it seem like a throne. Just what the hell was he doing sitting there so quietly?

"Oi, Mustang. Get your lazy ass over here and help me up." Edward wasn't really in the mood to be waited on, but wanted the bastard to move. It was too creepy with him just sitting there like that. Edward had a feeling that Roy had been there waiting for him to wake up longer than Isaac had. Why he suspected so, he didn't know. His notion could be completely off. His head was still messed up from the medication and several near-concussions.

Roy rose from the chair without question, stranger still, and walked over to Edward. There. That was all he'd wanted. He didn't really need the help.

He tried to push himself off of the ground and back to the couch, making it as far as an awkward crouch on one knee and clenched fist. His arms were trembling.

Roy tried to intervene with ungloved hands, placing one on Edward's arm and the other braced against the couch. Edward brushed him off with a swipe from his right arm, which had to snap quickly back into position after to prevent him from falling on his face again. He was disgusted by his own weakness.

Roy sighed heavily above him. Edward was sure he felt the same way.

He was tired of being so pathetic.

IEIEIIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEE

After Isaac ran off, Roy was left alone with Edward, who apparently had yet to notice him. The boy stared at the door, face a strange mingle of contentedness, excitement and worry. These emotions warred against each other, fighting voraciously for dominance. Finally, the brighter two won out and he seemed to relax into a smile, having made some sort of decision. It was interesting to watch, and rather reassuring. Especially after seeing the same face filled with nothing but fear and hollowing guilt for hours. Although the two faces were similar in basic features, nothing else would point to the two expressions belonging to the same person. It was alarmingly amazing how he could change so quickly.

Then he saw Edward lean forward. He wasn't going to…

But he was. Roy saw it coming, the leg that wasn't there springing forward faithfully to catch the momentum of the body. Treachery. It did not come anywhere near the ground, and the rest of him soon collapsed in its absence. It was funny, hilariously funny. Even though he could see it coming a mile off, it still felt like watching it unfold in slow motion. Edward didn't register it at first, either, and looked only confused as his face neared the floor. Brilliant.

Roy let out a chuckle, and tried very hard to hold in the laughter bursting in his chest. Edward did not appreciate his efforts.

He summoned him to his side, irritated as ever. Roy raised his eyebrows expectantly, but the smile remained as he got up off of his recliner and walked nonchalantly over to Edward. One more fall wouldn't be the death of the kid. His asking for help might've worried Roy, if not for the demeanor in which it was requested. He clearly had no intention of accepting any help.

As suspected, Edward refused Roy's hand and instead tried to push himself up instead. That was when Roy received the first shock he'd had this whole experience. Edward's arms were shaking. He could not move himself.

As he thought back on it, he realized that this was probably an expected result. The way he ate, the way he slept, the way he lived was not enough, was not good enough to keep him in any average physical condition. But seeing it in front of him this way… Roy sighed. It was his fault.

He was responsible for Edward. He had to be Edward's protector, his guardian. And he was failing miserably. Just look at the way he was struggling to lift even his own weight. It wasn't right.

He stopped merely suggesting his help and instead applied it forcefully, inserting his arm beneath his flesh arm. It was clammy from the sweat of nightmares.

He lifted Edward easily from the floor, placing him gently on the couch. This wouldn't go over well. He almost reconsidered, looking at Edward's form. He was still shaking, shoulders slumped and hair over his face. Roy was about to say something to make sure that Ed's mind was still all there, when the boy looked up at him. Right in the eye, fragments of the old fire bright and present in his glare. His face spoke only aggravated annoyance, with a stern mouth and lowered brow. It reminded Roy greatly of the Edward that had been three years ago, the one that had been slowly fading ever since, and it hit him hard. Like an ironclad fist to his gut.

"What the hell, Mustang?"

"I thought you wanted help," Roy responded slyly, nerves returning in time to extend his rebuttal.

"I just wanted to see if you'd actually move, I mean, you might've learned to sleep with your eyes open by now."

"Very funny, Fullmetal. I see that the blow to your head didn't do any damage to your sense of comedy."

"At least I'm not some old man who doesn't even know what comedy is," Edward said with a smirk and raised eyebrow. He was waiting for retaliation.

Roy's jaw set forward and he was tempted to provide some sarcastic remark, greatly tempted. He _was not_ old, very young actually if you looked at his military records and accomplishments. But he resisted. Riza was going to be home in half an hour and he had not done any work at all.

"Sorry, but I have to leave this childish discussion where it is. I have work to do," he called over his shoulder as he walked to the connecting hallway. Edward made a sound of disgruntled argument, and started to say something, but stopped himself. Hopefully it wasn't too important.

Roy rushed to the basement, where his renovated home office was just at the bottom of the stairs. He preferred it to his military office only because it was closer to his bed. In reality, even this office he stayed away from as much as possible because, at home or outside it, work was still work. A dreadful chore of piles and piles of papers he cared nothing about. It was all he could do not to groan outright.

He seated himself in the newly-reupholstered mahogany chair and lifted his pen. It was like resigning one's own self to torture. Mindless, brainless torture that had no end. Only more papers.

He signed stack after stack, making a note here or writing a summary there. It was tedious and boring and he'd rather walk away from it. He was starting to miss the debate with Edward.

Lift paper, scan roughly to make sure he wasn't giving weapons to terrorists, sign, and move to done pile. Repeat. Over and over again. He went through the piles with practiced skill and efficiency, motivating himself with the thought of Riza's return. He hadn't seen her since yesterday evening, mostly because he couldn't seem to get out of bed early when he knew he had the day at home. It would be a much needed reprieve to see her again.

Paper, sign, pass. Paper, sign, pass. Paper… Stop. Something was different.

He examined the parchment letter with increasing apprehension and speed, which had almost become alarm by the halfway point. It couldn't be. They couldn't do this. Not again.

It was like cold water down his back as he read the lines, unbelieving. It was so foreseeable that it made him sick. Of course something like this would happen.

Amestris was at war again, it looked like. The paper read 'skirmishes', but the rest of it was clear enough. They were intervening in another country again. Drachma. If it wasn't already, it would be full out war in less time than expected. It always happened too quickly.

It was the part after that, though, that nearly stopped his heart. It was a personal note, sent directly to him as a general from the Furor. A confidence that was not to be let out until it was absolutely certain, but should be made aware to him. If it did not end in the week, a notice would be sent out.

Requiring all State Alchemists, present and past, regardless of current state, to be ready for war.

He could only think of Edward.

**-philos**


	7. Chapter 7

Roy stared blankly at the low ceiling, trying to put together all of the thoughts that now swirled around his head. The white canvas held no more answer than he could muster by himself. The semi-darkness of the basement room only fueled his brooding, lending hand to no respite from this torment. He was still in a state of shock, quickly being permeated with venomous disgust. It was sickening and tiring and terrifying all at once. Perhaps he needed to sort out his emotions more than he needed to his thoughts.

He had no idea how much time had gone by since he'd read the wretched letter. It was crumpled beyond repair in the vice of his grip, though its suffering would do no more good in the situation than punching a wall would. Both of these venues would make him feel a heck of a lot better, though. He still sat in the same chair, back tilted as far as possible to allow his head to rest at a horizontal angle. He held a cool hand to his forehead and recognized the beginnings of a migraine.

Even though all he was able to see was the white expanse of the ceiling, he knew the light had already changed dramatically from when he'd sat down, and guessed that the small window set aboveground would be darkened completely by now. The only light came from his dingy little office lamp that sat on his desk, emitting a soft yellow glow through the thin lampshade. It cast wild shadows across the room when it shown through the stacks of paperwork surrounding it. The darkened streaks played back and forth with Roy's vision, interfering and messing with his already muddled brain.

Riza had come home a long time ago, maybe hours at this point, but hadn't bothered to call him up for dinner. She probably knew that he'd already eaten and had to work now. He planned to tell her what had happened. What would she say? What could he tell her? She would find out soon, he was sure, but he had no idea how to present the problem.

He had no idea how to approach the problem at all. It was like he was stuck, stopped entirely by this massive roadblock that would have to be passed eventually. He was very slowly moving forward now that his thoughts were actually processing, so apparently the street in front of the roadblock was covered in honey. Or squirrels. If he could run over the squirrels…

He shot forward from the chair, rubbing both hands through his hair. What was his mind even doing? This was why he shouldn't leave it unattended. Weird things happened.

He tried to draw what he could from his rather delusional inner monologue and stood up from the chair. He would confront it as soon as he could, facing anything he needed to without hesitation. And now, that meant sharing the news with Riza. He was certain that they could together find more solutions than his shell-shocked brain could put out. They were and always had been an excellent team.

And if not, well, misery loves company.

He crushed the letter even tighter in his grip as he took the stairs, moving quickly up one step at a time. Hopefully it would still be readable by the end of his journey.

Roy pushed the basement door open wider than was necessary for his passage and marched through. He slowed to a halt. He knew that he'd been in the basement for a while, but hadn't really paused to think of the implications, or how long it had actually been. The house around him was dark and empty, light coming solely from the small rectangular night light that was left in the hallway for anyone who might be awake after lights out.

He searched for a clock, all the while trying to puzzle out whether Riza would be asleep or in their room waiting for him. The nearest timepiece was in the kitchen, but he darted around to three different rooms in quiet haste before his brain remembered that. He stepped through the wide kitchen entrance and walked immediately to the clock. He registered that it smelled like spaghetti sauce. He had missed out on spaghetti night. With newfound upset, he looked at the clock's hands, ticking away in unchangeable perpetuation. It was late, only a few minutes before midnight. He could very nearly say that it was early.

He figured that Edward and Isaac at the very least would already be sleeping this late, so he tried very hard to ascend the stairs and tiptoe down the hallway as quietly as possible. Neither of them was a particular treat when woken up abruptly. It was a really _unpleasant_ circumstance, actually, and one he hoped with his life to avoid at all costs. He passed Edward's door on the way to his own, and was forced to stop yet again on his mission. There was a faint stream of light shining out from under Ed's door into the darkened hallway.

This was strange. Edward was usually at least trying to sleep by now. Roy listened at the door first. Nothing. This gave him absolutely no information at all, so he would have to look inside. He gently turned the knob and pushed the door in, letting the light that was hinted at earlier fill the hallway behind him. He could see nothing out of place in the room, and Edward's blonde head was tucked safely on a pillow at the far side of the bed, turned away from him. He sighed in relief. With everything crashing down like this, he was certain that this could only be yet another disaster. He was glad that, for once, it wasn't.

He went to the switch on the wall, figuring that the boy had forgotten to turn it off before he fell asleep. He had his unoccupied fingers nearly upon the switch when he was stopped by a small, tired voice.

"Mustang? What're you doing?"

So he was awake. Roy turned back toward the bed. Edward was now facing him, eyes open and, while definitely fatigued, did not look like he had been sleeping. His face was leveled from exhaustion, and with the weariness was a sort of unguarded, plaintive innocence. This was both intriguing and confusing. He should have been asleep by now if he was tired enough to be this out of it. And that expression reminded Roy of something he couldn't quite place. He knew that he hadn't seen this side of Edward in a very long time, but there was something else…

"Mustang? Why are you in my room? It looks like you've finally come upstairs after working down there for so long." Edward tried to get his attention again when he didn't reply, sounding somewhat more alert now. Roy looked at him in response. The largeness of the bed emphasized how small the boy was, how weak he had become. How fragile. How needing of protection. He looked at Roy with eyes that were confused and concerned, searching for anything that might be wrong.

Roy tried to give him a response.

"Your-" His voice sounded too feeble and he had to start over. "Your light was on, confusing the whole hallway. I had to drop in to see of you'd somehow fallen again."

Edward didn't seem irritated by his comment. Just worn out.

"Yeah, I have been doing that a lot lately, haven't I?" His reply was given with a sigh followed by a sheepish grin. He rubbed his neck bashfully.

"Yeah, you have."

They weren't even trying for conversation anymore. Roy didn't care, really. He was more concerned with Edward's new demeanor. Then, looking closer at the smile, the honest eyes, the trusting sense, he knew why it was so familiar. It was exactly how Isaac acted. No. It was exactly how a _child_ would act. Ed was a child. He had always been a child. It was so obvious now, seeing past all the shields that were normally covering his face, that it nearly floored him. He felt sick suddenly.

"So. So, why are you awake so late, anyway?"

"It's late? Yeah, it must be. I was just, I don't know, reflecting."

It was disappearing fast. Ever so slowly, the walls were returning. Roy felt ashamed that this was his effect on the boy; that he made him put up those defenses.

"Did you take your pill?"

Edward grimaced at the words, and Roy laughed a little internally.

"Yeah. Riza made me take it. Not fun."

"It was okay, though?"

"It went down, if that's what you mean. It's never really okay."

"Well, if it's down then it's down. I'm going to turn the light off now, alright? And you try to go to sleep."

"Okay." He was already slipping, as if Roy's presence finally signaled that it was okay to drift off. Roy went back to the light switch.

"Roy?"

He froze. Edward just called him Roy.

"What's in your hand? Ya keep scruchin' it an' it's gonna be wrecked," he said, slurring his words in exhaustion and gesturing to Roy's other hand. Roy clenched that fist even tighter.

"Oh, nothing. Just some trash I picked up on the stairs."

Edward seemed to accept this and melted onto his pillow. He probably wouldn't remember any of this when he woke up.

Roy flicked the switch and went for the door.

"G'night, Roy. See ya t'morrow."

"Yeah. Sleep well, Edward," Roy returned without looking back and rushed out the door. His heart was pounding.

He couldn't do it. He'd looked at his face, he'd wanted to say something, but in the end he just couldn't tell Edward what was happening. He'd even been asked directly and he couldn't say anything but lies. He felt dirty, lying to such an open face.

He had more difficulty than before trying to move quietly as he went to his own room.

The door opened with a soft creaking, not enough to wake a person but plenty to signal his entrance. Riza was sitting on the edge of the bed in her nightgown, reading a small paperback. She was waiting for him.

"I'd figured that there would be some reason for you to be down there so long," she said before even looking at him, and put the book down on the bedside table without marking a page. Her eyes went to his direction next.

"Do you want to talk?" Her gaze fixated upon him with utmost priority, as if she knew already the gravity of the issue.

Roy said nothing. He walked over to her, unclenched his fist and handed the letter to her. The thing passed between hands in silence. It was one way to break the news. He would let her make her own judgment of the thing, and to do so just let her read it herself. He waited for her to finish. It seemed like eternity, but it must've taken less than a minute. When she was done, she looked to him with grave severity.

"This was more than I was afraid of," she said. Her voice betrayed her concern.

"What are we going to do? We can't go against orders directly here. I have a feeling that the Furor put that last bit in specifically for us. He wants us to be trapped."

"Well, we can't make that assumption immediately. If that is his intent, there won't be any way to get out of it. We have to think that this is escapable, for Edward's sake and our own."

"I swear, he's turning out to be worse than Bradley."

Riza gave him a look.

"Okay, maybe not worse than _Bradley_. But he's picking all sorts of fights out there, and the country will have to pay for it. And he's never acknowledged my rank just because he's a jealous wanton fool."

"He's not inhuman just because he hates you, although I disagree with what he's doing just as much as you do. But he does have some humanity. We'll just have to appeal to that."

"How so?"

"We can file for a disability on Edward's behalf. They can't force him to serve if he can't stand up to march and doesn't have an arm to salute the Furor by. It could work."

"That seems like a plan. But what if he doesn't see that side of things? He's a rat eating bastard if I've ever seen one."

"We'll make him see."

Roy undressed and settled into bed. It was a long day. They continued to talk about possibilities and probabilities for a while after, but it soon became clear that this was their best option. Edward's physical condition couldn't stand the position. They would fight for that cause and wouldn't have to delve into the more problematic side of Edward's mental health, though that was what would really prevent him from being able to do this. Within the hour they had made their argument and plan to execute it. Using Roy's position in the military, they should be able to schedule a meeting with the Furor as soon as tomorrow. It would be done quickly and efficiently, eliminating Edward from the problem. That was all they could hope for.

They would do it, though, because they made a really amazing team.

**-philos**

**Will update at least once a week sometime, every week. Even if it happens to be Tuesday at midnight. It will happen. **


	8. Chapter 8

Roy was awake early for once, but he felt more alert than he ever was in the morning. No bleariness, no want to return to bed. Only the slowly growing anxiety for the day to come. His nerves were growing numb with their constant alertness, and he knew that it would only get worse as the day went on. He hadn't slept much the night before.

He stood now in the master bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. It was the only mirror he owned and was able to use anymore. They took all of the mirrors down shortly after Edward's arrival, when he looked into one of them and had the first panic attack in the residence. More, many, many more, would follow, but they didn't know that at the time. They also hadn't known how to deal with Edward's mental state during the things. They didn't know what caused him to be set off, why he would be acting perfectly normal one second and then screaming for people he didn't remember the next. How he would flash back and think he was somewhere he wasn't, attacking demons that weren't there to defeat. Always with that look of terror and hatred and grief and deranged refusal to accept the past. Every time, that face… Roy shuddered.

They'd later found out that seeing his own face reminded him something of Alphonse and triggered the attack. Roy didn't think Edward remembered that, though. Edward didn't retain a whole lot anymore.

Dawn was nearly lit outside the high arched windows, he could see from the mirror. He'd forgotten that it was so early. The last time he'd seen the sun rise was maybe a few years ago when he'd stayed up the whole night through with enough coffee and paperwork for an army of Roys, and didn't fall asleep until he passed out midmorning. The earliness of the moment bothered him. It was as if it signified that this was such a prominent event that it could control his life, down to when he woke up in the morning.

It was all the fault of that stupid letter, wedging its way into his life and breaking it apart. No, it wasn't just the letter. It wasn't just the meaning of the letter, or the implications of the letter. No, it was the Furor himself.

Hakuro.

He wouldn't be agreeable. That singular man was the wrench in all of their plans. He would, no matter how Riza liked to protest it, argue vehemently against anything Roy wanted to do. Ever. Although, it wasn't as if they could send Riza alone to talk to him. No, after the ordeal over their marriage, he knew by now that they were fighting the same battles.

Roy looked critically at his face in the reflection. It was nearly funny. All of these thoughts and turmoil going on inside of his head, and his face betrayed nothing. It remained the same mask of cool indifference, the same face that he'd had to forge through his years. The face that helped him survive and rise to greatness. It would be useful to him today. No matter how much he'd like to sock the Furor in the jaw, it would not show.

With a final glance at his hair to make sure it kept its windblown elegance, he was out. It was time to face the day.

He stepped back into the bedroom, unsurprised to see the bed made and the clothes he'd strewn arbitrarily on the bedside collected and out of sight. It was like a little trail; just follow the path of neatness and you'd find Riza. She had been up even before him on his earliest day, and there had been no change to her schedule. He figured she liked the quiet of the morning. He could get used to it himself, if he didn't like sleep so much.

The sun had barely risen above the horizon, and fledgling strands of light found their way into the room through the large glass panes. It was fresh and young, with a cutting edge to it that wasn't present as the day grew older. There was a strange air to it, as well, as if it were eager. Green. It wasn't actually green, but it _felt_ green. The small inklings of warmth that came, too, were tinged with a sharp youth. The experience as a whole made him feel very expectant and awake.

He didn't think he liked it, but that might've been from lack of sleep.

He crept through the room, not really sure what rules of etiquette morning people were supposed to follow, but assumed that one rule was to be quiet. He didn't think Riza had ever woken him up, and didn't want to do so for anyone else. It was really mostly for his own safety. Absolutely everyone he was living with at this point in time was irritable at best if woken up too early.

There was no reason to stay in the bedroom with everything already done for him, so he ventured downstairs for food. Waking up early made a person really hungry. Nothing sounded better than eggs and toast. That might take the some of the edge off of the morning, although he doubted it.

The hallway was empty and quiet, with all of the doors along it shut and blank. It was odd to him, even though he hadn't expected there to be anyone in the hallway, and would have been even more surprised if there were, but the feeling that there were sleeping people behind those doors, comatose to the world and unwary of his presence out here, was just strange. It was completely lifeless.

He wanted to see behind one of those doors, because this feeling was getting to him and he knew it had to be satiated. Screw the rules of morning etiquette, he wanted to reassure his own mind.

He reached for the handle to the nearest door, Edward's, and pulled it open. He really did try to be quiet about it, but that door creaked as if it were some sort of haunted house prop. It needed maintenance, badly. He peered through the few inches of space he'd given himself. There was a clear view of the bed past the opening, which was a relief. He didn't want to readjust the door any more than he had to.

What was less reassuring was the bed's contents. The blonde head was bent awkwardly over the edge, covers torn asunder, pillows mostly to the floor, stacked up on top of each other where they'd fallen off. Roy could see nothing of the rest of the boy but his flesh leg, which stuck out to the side tangled hopelessly in the sheets. It was a mess.

He considered the position the teen held and wanted to go in to make sure he hadn't somehow been snapped in half and left there, but the boy let out a reassuring snore that put Roy's conscious at ease. It must have been another rough night. He was sorry he hadn't heard it, otherwise someone could've come to comfort the child. They used to do that all the time in the beginning, but when the 'bad' nights increased to almost everyday occurrences, it became too often for anyone to bear realistically.

They still came to comfort him, but not as much as they should have. It was depressing and degrading that they didn't.

Gently, he closed the door. Once it had clicked into place, he resumed his tip-toe walk down to the kitchen. It was hard to keep completely silent. Though his movements were lithe and light, the silence gave way to the soft pat of his socks on the carpet. The way that the carpet pushed down beneath his feet would make it impossible for anyone to have complete stealth, but it annoyed him anyway.

He was glad when the carpet gave way to wood at the foyer. One quick turn and he was in the kitchen. Riza was already seated at the bar, sipping her usual morning tea. She acknowledged him with nothing more than a subtle nod to the counter, where a thick white mug sat. He approached it and lifted it to his lips without pause. Coffee, still hot and made dark, met his tongue. Just the way he liked it, as expected. Riza just was that way.

They sat in silence, enjoying their respective drinks and the morning quiet. The early sunlight gradually filled the room, creating short streaks of rainbow where it came through the angles of the window panes. One of them went across his coffee mug, transforming the white to a dazzling array of color. Poetic.

No words needed to be said between them. They had talked enough the night before, and both knew what had to be done to convince the Furor.

Roy's hand shook a little, causing the black contents to splash up and stain the sides. No matter how he reassured himself, the thought of the coming task put a twist in his stomach and a sense of foreboding he couldn't shake. He knew that if they messed up, if this didn't work, everything would fall apart. Things had fallen apart before, but this challenge… was one he couldn't, wouldn't face. Not if it could be helped.

But the fear remained.

He clenched his fist around the mug's handle. Everything would be fine. He lifted the cup and drained the rest of it in a singular gulp. Not such a good idea, since he couldn't really taste anything after and it hurt his esophagus. He left the kitchen in a rush. Riza didn't question his actions or say anything. She knew the situation just as well as he did.

He didn't really know what he was doing then, just that he had to move. Prepare himself. He let his feet carry him as his mind wandered, and soon found himself yet again in front of the mirror in the master bathroom. He fixed his hair. Brushed his teeth. Fixed his hair again. Twice. Soon there was absolutely nothing else he could do, so he went to the bedroom and sat on the side of the bed, running through their plan of action again. It might've been a half hour before he went downstairs again.

When he got to the kitchen again, he was surprised to see a different blonde sitting on one of the barstools. It looked like Edward had decided to wake up early today, although it was very obvious he had just woken up. His hair was a tangled mess, dark circles shaded the hollows beneath his half-closed eyes. One eyelid was drooping a bit lower than the other, giving him a sleepy puppy look. His skin was paler than it was normally.

Edward sat picking pieces of dry cereal from a bowl individually with his fingers, only popping every other one or two in his mouth. Roy knew already that the bowl wouldn't be finished.

"Hey, Fullmetal. What're you doing up?"

Edward yawned and rubbed one eye with a fist as he replied.

"Oh, hey, Romustang. I woke up and couldn't sleep. Even though I'm tired as hell."

Roy smiled as the boy yawned again in the middle of the last word, creating a kind of natural censor. He didn't give another thought to the slip on his name.

"You look it,"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing much. Although it does figure."

Edward stared angrily, waiting for further explanation.

"People grow when they sleep," Roy said matter-of-factly.

"I'm too tired for this, bastard," the boy grunted as he went back to plucking cereal from the bowl. It wasn't yet half finished. Roy wished Edward would have milk with it, a thought he usually grew accustomed to ignoring. But it was true; the small meals and miniscule bites would have more nutrition if he would just add milk to them.

He walked out, leaving the teen to his food. Maybe he would eat more if Roy didn't distract him.

He went about the house again, visiting any room and every room for something to occupy him until the time came to leave. It was hard to stay still, though, so even when he found something to do, like tackling the making of Edward's bed, he had to drop it mid-task and move on to something else. Isaac woke up at some point and ran down to play with Ed.

Riza found him when it was nearly time to leave. He was currently trying to wash the dishes. There were a whopping three of them, so he was halfway done. He had no idea where she'd been, but she came into being to tell him the time. Fifteen minutes to go.

She looked at him with understanding.

He returned it with quiet exhaustion.

She left after that, presumably to disappear to the same place she'd come from, and Edward wandered in thirty seconds later. He looked considerably better now that he'd been awake a while.

"Mustang," was said by way of a greeting.

He hobbled over on a leg and a half to stand in front of Roy, balancing on one foot to assume his full height. It wasn't much, but Roy could see the effect he was going for. He always did this when he wanted to look strong or capable. It was usually when he wanted to do something that Roy would definitely deny him otherwise. The success rate of this strategy was about twenty percent.

"I want to- to try to go outside," he said it with determination, despite the stumble in the middle.

Roy was surprised, although this was, in hindsight, predictable. Of course he would want to go outside eventually, but after four panic attacks from trying it was unlikely that it would be a fruitful expedition. The panic attacks had become more frequent lately, actually. It was only strange now that he considered it.

"Please," the tone softened, "I want… I need to do this."

Roy, even with his doubts, knew that it was true. And he would consent to fulfill his need.

"Alright."

Edward only looked shocked for a moment, then accepted Roy's ruling with unwavering silence.

Roy helped Edward to the door, one of his arms over his shoulder. He could hear Edward breathe in and out heavily as they stood before the exit. They should do this before anyone could have any doubts. It was terrifying, with Ed's volatile condition, standing there. As if on a precipice about to fall off. Dangerous, risky, confusing… all for a door. A stupid door that could cause a lot of pain if it were removed. The thing that separated the safe world from the unknown, as Edward would see it.

One. Two. Three. Roy used his free hand to push the door open and together they stepped into the hot summer morning air.

Edward's eyes widened immediately. Roy could see the thoughts racing behind them, the treacherous thoughts that poisoned his brain, and he wished more than anything that they would stop, that he could stop them. But he couldn't.

Edward fell to his knees and passed sickness into the shrubbery before Roy could do something to prevent it. Then he could only kneel next to the small convulsing figure and rub his back. He wasn't quite sure if this was actually helping at all. After a moment or two that felt like forever, it stopped, and the child slumped into his arms. He had passed out.

Roy sighed. This was a terrible idea. It was completely necessary, and he knew that he probably would've done the same thing if given another chance, although he would grab a bucket before going out then. But the effect was less than desired.

Edward was incapable of leaving the house. They had to be able to convince Hakuro, because Roy had no idea what they would do if they couldn't.

**-philos**


	9. Chapter 9

Roy finished setting Edward down on the couch for the second time in as many days. He would rather not see the figure limp so often, and it seemed to be getting even more frequent lately. Roy wondered if it would keep getting worse as time went on, if they should do something about it… Even though he hated the thought, it was possible that the medication needed to be upped. That could only be a last resort; the side effects were bad enough as it was. He dismissed the thought, mostly because he didn't want to think about it. They had to go now, anyway.

They said their quick goodbyes to Isaac, Gracia and Elysia and went out the door. Roy was relieved that they weren't hard-pressed to find someone to watch the boys. It was convenient, having the Hughes family just a few streets away.

Riza was already in the driver's seat of the car, leaving the passenger seat for Roy. He got in quickly enough for them to snap their seatbelts into place at the same time in equal fluid motions. They wasted no time in clearing the driveway and veering steadily to the street. It was not so long a drive to the offices, but the speed worked to clear both of their minds. It wouldn't hurt to be early, they might be able to find out more about what's going on.

Roy watched the buildings pass by. Normal people were walking on the sidewalks, but he didn't find any familiar faces. It wasn't as if it was likely to begin with. Sure, he'd always been well known and even popular among the women, but he never bothered to learn many of their faces or talk to any on a regular basis. Not like Edward had known them once, long ago. The people's alchemist, they called him. That was years ago. It was a shame that most of them had probably forgotten Ed by now. But the few his life had touched personally, they would remember Edward for as long as they lived. That was certain, and it made it all a little less sad. The people who would fight for Edward just as he'd fought for them, and would still do so even now. Although Roy knew that anyone, anyone who got to know him, would want to fight for him.

Roy looked out at those people, wondering how many of them lived only because of the things Edward had done. There were more people now littering the sidewalks.

The roads became smoother as they got closer to Command. The buildings were more ornate here, as well. The daily bustle and crowding was growing even larger on the street, but that would change when they got within a block of their destination. The government blocked out most civilian interaction. Roy could see why they'd valued Ed so much.

Riza spoke up from the other side of the car.

"If Hakuro doesn't take to the disability argument, should we bring up the other side of it?"

They had discussed this in depth before, but Roy was never sure if it should be one way or the other, but thinking back to the people on the streets, the ones who still remembered the Fullmetal Alchemist, he made up his mind.

"No. If it gets to that point, there'll be no convincing him anyway. If we tell him about the other things, he'll only use the information to spread gossip about it."

"Why?"

"He'd do anything to bury the name Fullmetal. It reminds the people that there was good before he became Furor, and mental instability would be a perfect rumor to tarnish the memory."

"Then why hasn't he done anything yet? He's had enough opportunity."

"I know Hakuro. He's a scumbag, but he wouldn't lie. He thinks too highly of himself for that kind of dirty undertaking. He'll deceive, take liberties with the truth, hide what he wants to, but he wouldn't lie outright."

"He could've found something out if he wanted to over the three years Edward has been out of commission. It would be easy to do; it's not as if he doesn't know where he lives."

"It wasn't immediately necessary for him. Nothing's being actively done against him or putting his power into question, so he hasn't had real motivation. But if we put it right in front of his face he's sure to take hold on the opening and use it to his highest advantage."

"So it's up to whether he'll go for the argument of Edward's being physically unable to fight. We'll just have to hope that it's enough."

"If all that's left is hope, it might not go over well. Hope and the military are mutually incompatible."

"True enough. We'll have to fight for it, then."

"Much more fitting."

The conversation had to end there, as they had pulled in to the front of the Central Command building. Imposing and official as ever. He could only imagine what it looked like to people who hadn't worked there for years and grown accustomed to its monumentality. It must be terrifying.

The grand stairs in front of the entrance were strangely deserted. Odd, considering it was less than an hour before the main swarm of officers came in. The place was usually a madhouse all day, and the real commotion was coming fast. Why, then, would it be empty? The question played in the background of his mind as he strode into the building, Riza behind him a little and to his right. She kept a good pace.

They entered, and Roy was relieved of some of his stress as they saw a few blue-clad figures in the hallway. There was life in the building, at least. Good. He didn't need another potentially apocalyptic situation to go through. Or a war. No, he'd had enough of those. So it was nice to see that Central was running as usual.

They navigated the hallways with practiced ease. The few people they'd seen didn't greet them and they extended the behavior. Roy didn't care about the nameless soldiers, they were practically strangers to him anyway, but he was a little disappointed that none of his crew appeared anywhere. He could've used a dose of their energetic laziness. It was usually an oxymoron, which only made sense when applied to them. Running into them might've helped his mood a little before going in. It wasn't as if he expected to see them, he'd only wanted them to show up. But this early, it was unlikely. They liked the morning hours about as much as Roy did.

He rounded a corner and immediately ran into something, with a good deal of force, from the speed he was going. He was forced back a few feet, but whatever he'd knocked into was sent flying to the ground. He looked down at the figure, Riza soon behind him. It was Sheska. He stood dumbly for a moment, watching her try to find her glasses after they'd been knocked off, until Riza came around his side and helped her up.

"Oh, Sheska, sorry about that," he said a little abashedly, despite himself. At least he'd remembered his manners. And to think he used to be a ladies' man.

"No, no, it's no problem, this happens more than you'd think, actually." Her hands still searched the floor around her blindly for her glasses. Roy picked them up and handed them to her while Riza pulled her up, steadying with an arm. She was all put back together in no time. She fumbled around with a stack of books she'd managed to hold on to as she talked to them.

"So what are you two doing here? I thought General Mustang was supposed to be working from home for the next few weeks."

Roy realized that she was directing the conversation more towards Riza than himself. It frustrated him, but he could she how the shy girl would find talking to another woman more comfortable. It stung, regardless, to have her ignore him completely. He would've liked the attention. Riza was probably more capable at handling it at the moment, though.

"We're only here for a meeting, then I think we'll both be going home for the rest of the day. Business as usual."

"That sounds nice. The going home part, I mean. No, meetings are terrible. Is the subject matter interesting, at least?"

"Not at all. A hassle for the morning, really. Say, Sheska, have you heard anything about the fights at the border lately?"

"Only that they've been getting worse. It looks like we might have to send some people in there, although no one's supposed to know about that yet. Sh, by the way, about that."

"What is the scale of the fighting, by means of how much manpower is needed over there," Riza questioned again, and her voice was the same calm and deductive tone that was her brand. Roy could see what she was doing.

"Hmm, I don't really know for sure. It's looking like they might need a good few soldiers, at least. Things just aren't quieting by themselves."

"I see."

"Yeah, it's been really bad down there, even from the beginning. I don't know who started it, truthfully, but a bunch of fights have been breaking out on the border between here and Drachma. We can't even tell if they're just ragtag little gangs against the Amestrian government, or if it's actually an organized military motion from the other side."

"Has there been a lack of information between here and there? It seems like there's a lot we don't know."

"Yes, actually. The Drachmans have been purposely blocking all of the railroads between the center of the fighting and Central Command. The only information coming in is through individual messengers. And half of those don't even make it back… Things are pretty bad."

"Thanks, Sheska." Riza took off down the hallway, and Roy only paused a moment to send an amused look at Sheska before tagging along. The woman was confused, so just stood there waving.

"Um, you're welcome? What did I help with?!" She started yelling as they got farther away. No one bothered to respond to her. Eventually she just shrugged and pulled a book from her stack, presumably to get lost again in the words until some other unsuspecting person bumped into her.

Roy looked ahead. They were coming up on the Furor's office.

He thought about Hakuro. The man had always been sour about Roy's ambitions, and only grew more so as he ascended to General. Roy didn't understand exactly what he had done to aggravate him, but whatever it was, it sure had been effective. He wasn't one to be accepting of these kinds of things, though, so the hate was mutual. Unfortunately, Hakuro rose through the ranks faster than Roy. He was always in the right places, and beat him to the position of Furor. He had always been a rank above Roy, so it made sense that he would take it first. Maybe it was because he had always been Roy's superior that he felt so vexed by his aspirations.

Whatever the case, they were still quite bitter and would remain so indeterminately. Rivalry and moral disagreement ran deep between them. That was what would make convincing him difficult, if nothing else.

They were at the door. It was thicker now than it had been, even when Bradley served. Hakuro liked his protection.

They went in, and, to Roy's utmost annoyance, sat the bastard of the hour in the grand leather chair behind the coveted desk of the Furor. Roy had imagined himself there countless times before, and seeing Hakuro there made it all the more potent a longing. He was propped up like a princess, filing through papers and inspecting his nails. He heard the door open and looked up at the arrivals with disinterest, followed quickly by contempt. This was going to go well.

"Sir," Roy started, though it pained him to address the man that way, "We are here in regard to the notice you sent out yesterday. I believe I notified you of our coming here to discuss it?"

"Yes, yes… That. Do you have a problem with it, Mustang?"

"The notice stated that all State Alchemists were to participate in the upcoming battle, if necessary, past or present. We would like to address the specifics of this detail, precisely those concerning the involvement of one Edward Elric."

"Fullmetal. What specifics are there to address? Were the implications not quite clear enough for you? All are to be battle ready, no exception."

"There is a need for an exception for Fullmetal. He can't serve in this without limbs, certainly. We'd like to file for his disability, thereby exempting him from the action."

"You'd ask this of me?"

"If you would be so benevolent." The sarcasm in that line slipped out minutely, and Roy hoped desperately that he wouldn't notice.

"Well I can't do that for you, Mustang."

"Why not? He's missing an arm and a leg!"

"Which he had all throughout the duration of his military activity. Are you saying that the exact same problem is limiting him only now? Or is there something else?"

He knows. He knows about Edward and he's just waiting for them to slip up. Roy gritted his teeth.

"No sir, nothing else. But the prosthetics that are available now are much less efficient than the ones he had during his service. One of them is broken even now."

"But his old automail mechanic is still alive, I'm seeing," he said after flipping through a few papers. The efficiency of the revelation was terrifying.

"She is alive, but her ability-"

"She hasn't suffered any accident, still has both of her hands. It is possible."

"We'll find someone…" Riza tried to calm them, looking uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. Roy knew she was trying to appease him, but he wasn't done yet.

"I'm telling you-"

"Enough! I order you, as Furor, to make sure that the Fullmetal Alchemist is completely physically able to go to war to the best of your ability to do so. Because he will go, Mustang. Do whatever you have to to make sure that it works out. I command it."

Roy was silent. He looked to the floor, refusing the inevitable defeat.

"…Yes, Furor," Riza broke in when Roy was unable to. They both, regrettably, left the office. The heavy door swung shut loudly behind them. Roy wanted to punch something.

"We would've done better not to come at all," Riza started as they exited the building. "You know what this means, right?"

"Yes, I know."

"He's going to need real automail to perform the same way he did three years ago, in theory."

"I know."

"We'll have to go-"

"We can't. We just… Can't."

She sighed.

"There might be some alternative elsewhere. There's a place to the south, Rush Valley…"

"I know about Rush Valley," Roy snapped at her harshly. She didn't show any hurt in her face, but he immediately regretted his tone. When he spoke again, it was softened greatly.

"I know all about it. It won't work. The people there have changed, the automail aspects are dying out. The best makers have all moved out to other countries where the demand and pay is higher. There's no one left. No one who can handle Edward, at that. He won't take to any of their practices. The pain and the unfamiliarity would be a lot to handle normally, and he's unstable enough as it is. And he won't take to the travel, either. Hell, he got sick trying to walk out the front door earlier. And with the circumstances he'll be under in the military, it will need repairs."

"We could hire someone to come out here to stay. One of those people who moved out of Rush, maybe."

"I've already said it. There's no one left to contact. No one else will make pieces with the quality he needs."

"You sound like you want this to be the only option."

"Of course I don't want it to be this way! Of course I don't want to have to put him, her, any of us, through that. I don't want it to be, but this is the only option."

"..We should see the train times, and call for them to come-"

"No. We have to go out there."

"But Ed-"

"Will have to manage it. As bad as he is, she…" He trailed off. They both knew.

"You said he was sick from trying to leave the house. How is he supposed to travel all the way to Resembool?"

"He's got worse to face in the time to come."

**-philos**


	10. Chapter 10

Edward sat back in the low-set leather chair. He didn't like that he had to look up at Roy and Riza from so far down. They were standing in front of him side by side like a wall out of nervousness, and he would be too if he'd been able to stand. He fidgeted around a little in the seat, because it felt more like a rock prison now than a chair. They stared at him in uncomfortable silence.

Riza looked downtrodden and thoughtful, whereas as Roy just looked disgusted. Edward knew that all of it was directed toward himself. He knew that he was weak and useless and only caused them more problems. But right now, he wasn't sure if they should be yelling at him or he should be yelling at them, because neither was happening and either was all too likely to.

He waited for them to continue, but it looked like Riza was going to cry. He knew she never would, but the fact that she _looked_ like it _might_ be a possibility was comparable to a normal person sobbing on the floor. It was bad.

They hadn't told him too much, but what they had left him reeling. He could not go to Resembool. He barely remembered what it was, and it hurt with a sharp stinging pain to try to remember, but what he could gather about it only brought pain and sickening sorrow. He did not like the idea of Resembool.

Even more so, he did not think it was possible, let alone want to, go outside the house again. It was a failure. He was a failure. He got stuck on that singular thought for a while. Failure. Failure. He knew that he was blanking out, just as well as he knew that he couldn't feel much emotion right now because he was in shock. He was aware of this, but he didn't like accepting it.

Roy and Riza still stood in front of him. They were waiting for a response now. He didn't know what he could give.

"So. So, that's… I… Can't." The last word was muffled behind the hand he'd drawn to his face. It was too hard to admit defeat to them, these brave people. He wondered again why they let him live here.

"What was that, Edward?"

"I-I can't. I can't go."

One of them sighed, but he couldn't tell who it was because his eyes were closed now. He didn't remember closing them, but it had probably been on a reflex. There was a strange burning behind is eyes that gave him a bad feeling. They couldn't see whatever it was.

Tears. He was on the verge of tears? Why?

He felt like it had everything to do with that place, Resembool.

"He has to go…"

"What can we do about it? He's stuck…"

They were talking about him. He tried to open his eyes, but found that he couldn't. That was strange.

"We can- we can take him overnight. If it's right after the medication…"

"We'll leave Isaac with Gracia…"

They continued to finalize plans, but Edward was falling fast. The voices receded, only to be replaced by louder ones, ones he didn't recognize but felt he should. They became a cacophony, raging within his skull. A scream. Sobbing. _Alphonse_.

His eyes shot open. Roy and Riza were still there, he was still in the seat. Everything was the same. They didn't seem to notice his sudden burst into consciousness.

He watched the talk for a while, but he didn't really grasp what they were saying. Only a word here or there actually came through, but he dismissed it automatically. It just hit him. He would have to leave the house.

"_What_ are you _thinking_?!"

The adults looked down to him in shock. He couldn't tell if it was because he was awake or because he was yelling. Probably both.

"What kind of conditions could there be for this? Why… Why do this now?!"

"Edward, please,"

"No, I just, I don't want to-"

"Don't want to what?" Roy cut him off strictly, the same way he would have if he were still his Colonel. Edward's eyes widened before narrowing defiantly. His eyebrows lowered and he frowned even more so than he already had been.

In truth, he was terrified. As much as that fact sickened him, it was true.

"I don't want you to do this to me! I don't want to be overdosed just to ride a stupid train or even leave the stupid house! I don't want you to look at me like I'm lost, I don't want you to have to help me all the time… And I don't want to go to Resembool!" He screamed at the end and his voice cracked, to which he flinched irrevocably. He slumped down again in the chair and looked at his clenched fists. As if he could fight.

"Edward…"

"No, _no_, I'm done, really. Please, just… leave. I can't even do that much on my own anymore so I have to ask you to go instead. Isn't that just pathetic?" He finished it off with a chuckle and a grim smile.

He was horrified to find that liquid was running down his face. Not much, but enough to make his little tantrum all the more humiliating. A hand reached down to brush the fluid away, but he turned his head and recoiled from it. The hand dropped in defeat.

He refused to look up at them, and eventually they left. He held still as a statue until he was sure that they were gone. They went away in silence, but he could tell that they'd had a nonverbal argument before deciding to leave him. It looked like someone won out. The room was still. When he was perfectly alone, he lifted an arm to his face and wiped the tears away furiously. He was being such a baby about this. All they wanted to do was take him out of the house, get his leg fixed…

The leg that he broke. It was still his fault, and even then he couldn't go out. They didn't ask any more than that of him, that he go outside for once. Go to that place, Resembool. He couldn't let go of that name, Resembool. There were lots of things that he couldn't remember, but that one seemed really important. He put his head into his hands, running both flesh and manufactured fingers through his hair.

It was hopeless trying to remember anything. When he first started caring about the memories, about two years ago, he'd tried to reach into them. He would chase a thought until he passed out or threw up, but it never got him anywhere. It was doubtful that he would ever remember everything, the doctor said. Doctors. He shuddered. That was one thing he didn't miss about the outside world.

Edward shook his head and sighed, for no one to hear but himself. How did he get to be so weak? He was just a burden, something that needed taking care of. He wasn't able to leave.

He was strong, a while ago. He used to be brave and careless and free… He remembered those things. He missed it sorely.

Maybe, maybe he could be that way again. He just had to work on it. Yeah, he could at least try to work through his fears. He owed that much to Mustang and Hawkeye. He decided then, sitting up straighter with a grim determination that he would go to Resembool. No matter what it took from him.

He was still worthless, but he could do what they wanted. From now on, he would do whatever they needed him to.

IEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIE

Riza looked unsteadily at Roy. They were in their room, Riza on the edge of the bed and Roy pacing lightly in short circles in front of her. She caught his gaze and he sighed in return.

"Why is he like this?"

He gave no response at first, so she continued.

"Hating himself, acting so spiteful. Why?"

She sounded anxious and slightly hurt. Roy knew that she probably worried that they were doing something wrong. They were.

"It's because of the medication."

"The pills? How long has he been-"

"I raised the dosage as of last night, doctor's request. It messes with the brain's chemicals, so side effects like this were… not predictable, but to be expected."

She looked disgusted and tired.

"It had to be done. He was getting worse, the flashbacks…" He trailed off. They both knew that they had been getting worse lately.

He turned away from her.

"He has to be on it this heavily, at least until the automail is done. We can figure something else out from there, but for now…"

He broke off into silence. He was filled with his doubts about this, and tried to reign them all in. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Riza there.

"I understand. Until the automail is done."

"Agreed."

**-philos**


	11. Chapter 11

They were on the very first train to Resembool the next morning. It was muggy and humid in the morning air, and though cool tendrils of night still clung to his ankles, Roy could tell that this would be another horribly roasting day. This summer was just unforgiving, to tell the truth. Every day was hotter than the last, and this one already promised to follow that trend. He wished it was autumn. At least then he could use his alchemy without causing the air to roast.

It was proving somewhat difficult to travel with an unconscious teenager, especially in the heat. They had to give him an extra dose in the morning to make sure the effect would be lasting throughout the trip, and he was completely dead to the world in less than an hour. Carrying him around was hard enough, but the stares it earned from the people they passed were miserable. It must've looked pretty weird, hoisting a limp child around on his shoulder, but what was he supposed to do? Stuff him in a duffle bag? Actually… No, no. It was too late now. Darn.

He and Riza managed it, though, and they were seated safely in their car now, away from the view of the nosy passerby. She was sitting across from him in their compartment, reading some sort of book she'd brought along. He wished he'd thought of that. It was a long ride to get to the country and he had nothing to pass the time, save for a few paperclips he'd found in his pocket. Just great.

It didn't help that he was propped up at the very edge of the seat, so that his shoulder was pressed against the hard glass of the window, to make room for the small body that was spread across the rest of the bench. At least Edward was sleeping peacefully. Even with all the bad effects they had, at least they guaranteed a dreamless, heavy sleep. He was thankful for that much. And with the extra pills, it was unlikely that that would change anytime soon. Hopefully it would hold until they got to the Rockbells'.

Edward's eyebrow quirked up a bit. Maybe it was too much to hope. But the face relaxed and went back to blank amity, so he made note of it but took no action. The way Edward was lying right then, on his back with his arms folded together and that face so plain and calm, it was nearly corpselike. He shook his head. It was terrible to think of such things, especially after everything that he'd gone through. Even before the incident three years ago, Edward had risked his life a lot. Quite a bit more than the average preteen would. They were lucky that he was alive now. So to think of him like that… It made Roy nervous. But those thoughts were ridiculous. They were in no danger now, unless Edward's potential social interaction was viewed as dangerous, and they'd made it through all that. So this… Piece of cake.

He chose to stop thinking right then, to eliminate the threat of any more tangents. He just looked out the window and watched the passing scenery. All that could be done now was to wait. The train ride hadn't lasted fifteen minutes and already he was like this. It was going to be a long, long ride.

The train that they'd taken had been more or less the first one they could grab, so the usual amenities were not present. It was a lousy, third rate tug-a-chug that jostled around with every slightest bump and made too much noise. Really, they could've waited a while longer for a better quality train, couldn't they? Was it too late to switch? He wanted to switch. It wasn't fair. And then he could've slept a bit longer in his own bed, which he would've gladly done because two days in a row of waking up early was really not working for him.

There was no chance of getting any rest now, with this blasted bumping and rumbling. He almost wished he had been put to sleep in a manufactured way as well. He looked down again to Edward. The train's movement was not going well down there, either. The boy was practically being thrown around with the force, and the limp limbs only accentuated the force with which they were being tossed. Roy reached around and pulled the blonde head into his lap. There, it was a little better now that he had someone to steady him. As he surveyed the child to make sure that nothing was getting crushed in the new position, the eyebrows twisted together again and one hand came up to grasp Roy's shirt. The movement was cautious, but rushed underneath with desperation and panic. As soon as it found purchase, his face smoothed out again.

Roy took one of his own hands and placed it over top of the smaller one that clung to the hem of his shirt. He hoped it was comforting.

He returned his gaze to the window and watched the scenery rush by, the passing tracks keeping time with the bouncing of the train. He continued to direct his vision that way, but his mind stayed on the hand beneath his own. He really did hope that this wouldn't turn out to be a disaster.

They arrived at the Resembool station without further incident and in whole pieces, if a little sore in the rear. Edward, thankfully, had slept the whole time and did nothing, except flinch quietly once when Roy accidentally caught the long hair in one of his shirt buttons. It took forever to get that untangled, mind you.

They left the station once again with Edward's limp form aver Roy's shoulder and a goal to get to. They had to make it to the Rockbells' now.

Fortunately, Riza remembered to call ahead and have a car dropped off at the train station so they could travel the loosely populated countryside without difficulty. It was there ready for them to use, a little dinky black thing that would barely hold the three of them. They packed in without a word, Edward set down in the back seat and Roy and Riza occupying the driver and passenger's up front.

Roy tried to buckle the seat belt awkwardly across Edward's horizontal position with mild success, but he was still apprehensive about the kid falling off the seat, with all the hilly area that they had to cross. Riza only seemed to care about getting them there before the pills wore off, so Roy was alone in keeping him steady. It was not helpful that Riza was driving like a madwoman.

They got to the automail shop in minutes, and Roy was sure that between her driving and the train ride, he was going to have motion sickness for weeks. He was uncertain about his ability to even remove himself from the car, let alone carry Edward inside and deal with the situation in there. But Riza was already gone and they really were just wasting time. The medication wouldn't last much longer now, and they had yet to go in the house.

Roy stepped out of the little car, and the ground greeted his foot much sooner than he thought it would. He didn't think about the low set of the car, and combined with the motion sickness, he stumbled a little. Just a little, but it was enough to make him embarrassed.

There had been many phone calls between the Mustangs and Pinako, most of them from Riza, and they had reconciled for their differences in the past. Or, in the case of Roy and Pinako, reached a mutual tolerance. Even though all of that was true, Roy knew that she would be watching for them from the window and would most definitely not let this slip up go without some sort of teasing. It was malicious, when it came from her. She was a scary lady.

He continued casually as if nothing had happened, getting Edward out of the back without meriting the ominous window with so much as a glance in its direction. Maybe seeing Edward after all this time would take her mind away from his stumble.

As he redirected his gaze to the wide rolling hills around, he noticed another man walking down the dirt road, leading some sort of donkey with him. Considering the place they were in, it might've been a horse. He didn't know. The stranger gave him a nearly hostile look as he walked up the opposite hill. It shouldn't have been so disconcerting, as they'd had plenty of odd stares between here and Central, but something about the fact that he was the only other person around made it more personal. He made it a point to avoid looking in that direction, as well.

He was running out of places to set his eyes, though.

Roy hoisted Edward up over his shoulder and went inside the house. Riza had already gone in ahead of them. Good. Maybe she'd distracted Pinako in time.

He maneuvered gingerly through the doorway, trying to edge in without hitting any of his or Edward's limbs on the way. Shutting the door behind him, he heard the old woman's voice.

"Nice trip out there, Musty."

Or maybe she had seen the whole thing and laughed at him. Damn, that old…

"Put Ed down on the couch there. Riza tells me that he'll be up soon, so just leave him."

"Right," he continued talking as he did what she asked. "We should probably get started here as soon as possible. Is Winry around?"

He finished arranging Edward's limbs and joined Pinako and Riza in the kitchen a few feet away.

"There is no 'we' here, General," she said, spitting out his rank like it was the foulest insult possible. "You'll just be sitting on your lazy bum while we do the work."

He ignored her usual attitude. Things would never be completely docile between them.

"And Winry?"

"She's upstairs, as usual. You should know this by now."

"Is she… Does she know about Edward? That he's here?" Riza brought up the question this time. Roy was thankful; they might get a straight answer if she was the one talking.

"She doesn't yet. She wouldn't pay attention even if I shouted it at this point, but she'll respond to seeing the boy in the flesh."

"Okay. Should we go up to get her?" Roy ventured.

"Or what's left of his flesh. What have you been feeding him, air?"

"Do you want to go get her?"

"No, no. It would be better if we just brought Edward to her."

"I don't think-"

"Don't get your military britches in a bundle. It will be fine."

"If this backfires, it's on your head, then?"

"Watch it, Musty."

"Fine, fine. We do it your way," he responded calmly. On the inside he was panicking about Edward's condition and the implications of this arrangement, but he went along with it. He didn't know all that much about Winry's condition as of late, or how bad it could've gotten if she wasn't listening to Pinako anymore.

They were cut off by a groaning behind them. Roy spun around just as Edward started sitting up. He was still mostly asleep, but it was like his body knew to move immediately. Roy started toward the boy, all the while cursing that the meeting would have to be sooner than later. That Edward would have to wake up in this strange environment at all. Edward was waking up a little more by now.

"Wha- Wha's goin' on? Are we there?" He opened one eye half way, though the other one seemed stuck in place, and stared blankly around him. There was no panic evident, or anything at all really. Not even mild curiosity about his surroundings. Just flat fatigue. It could be that this place was familiar on a subconscious level and wasn't immediately linked to the past in Edward's mind. If that was true, then the panic would come later.

"Yes, we have arrived. Feel free to get up at any time, it's not as if we have things to do or anything. No Edward, we came out here solely to let you spend the time sleeping on a couch."

"Geez, ya bastard. I'll get up. You don't have to be such a bastard about it," he threw back tiredly. It didn't look like his heart was really much in the banter, but he tossed his legs over the side of the couch. His slumped posture was tilting slightly to the right. Without most of his left leg, it looked as if he was going to fall over. He didn't seem to notice or care.

"Come on. We have to go on a little walk now. You can manage that much, right?" Roy said it mockingly, but he was serious about the question. He didn't know if Edward was capable, or ready for this. He didn't know if he himself was ready for this. But he reached down, regardless, and pulled the smaller up to stand on his remaining foot. He was unsteady at first, and was slow to regain balance.

He looked up at Roy through half-lidded eyes, shielded with grogginess. Shadows of their previous flame danced around absently in them as he dared Roy to take him forward in his tired state. Roy accepted the challenge and turned, dragging the teen along.

They marched straight past Riza, but Pinako was already waiting ahead to lead them up the stairs. There was no hesitation from her and they continued to ascend. Roy let his doubts bow down in favor of his determination. Edward was too tired to really register what was going on, so that might make this run smoother than it would have. It could make it a lot worse as well, being shocked like that after sleeping, but he could hope that it was the former. If he didn't believe that, he wouldn't be able to go up these stairs.

They reached the top, and the old woman led them to Winry's room. Last second dread filled his veins. He had the feeling that he did not want to see the girl behind that door. He'd seen what state she'd been in a year and a half ago, and that was when she had still been responsive. If she was even worse than that, now… It wasn't going to be a pleasant experience. That was certain. He paused. Edward made no complaint or sign that he even realized they'd stopped at all.

"Can you do the work, old woman? We can leave the girl out of it that way," Roy inserted quickly. Pinako did not look pleased. She wasn't particularly angry, but the look on her face was definitely negative.

"I'm afraid that my bones aren't so good anymore," she said quietly as she held up her hands. "And my eyes don't see too well, either. I haven't been able to do anything but teach the theory in years. But Winry, she has, believe it or not, been honing her skills this whole time. She's quite the master."

Roy returned to the door in grim silence. Winry would have to be enlisted for this task. Gently, he rotated the knob and cracked the door. It was dark inside. He opened it up a bit more, and found nothing through his line of sight but piles and piles of _stuff_: clothing, machine parts, discarded food, garbage, scraps of metal. Scattered in mounds across the room for as much of it as he could see, and it was presumably the same way throughout the rest of the area. Yes, things had definitely gotten worse since he'd last been here.

He leaned forward on the door, dragging Edward with him, and went all the way inside. It was not completely dark, as he'd first thought, but dimly lit with a dingy little desk lamp from the other side of the room. It sat on a table on the far side of the room, serving as the only source of light because the curtains were thick and shut as tightly as possible. It was isolated from the outside, so one could never know the difference between day and night. He tried to step in a little farther to see what else was on the table, but found it difficult to move through the litter of things that nearly coated the floor and stacked up in places into piles, some of which were Roy's height. He shifted around them, making sure that Edward managed to find a way through as well. It was trickier than he imagined it would be.

He finally got inside far enough to see the bent over figure at the desk. She was working furiously, moving her arms around, maneuvering different tools and checking measurements. All around a large hunk of metal that nearly resembled an armor helmet. A finished chest plate sat on the floor to the side of the desk, but he couldn't see any other pieces than that one. Perhaps there were no more.

He studied the advancements she had made on the helmet. It didn't look like she'd gotten too far, so it probably wouldn't be recognizable enough to send Edward into madness. He would try to keep the _thing_ out of his view, anyway. Just to be safe.

They walked up directly behind her, but Winry was lost in her own two-foot universe, where there was nothing but her and the dead. It was sad to watch. Her hands flew about ceaselessly, and she would shake her head every once in a while, as if in disagreement with herself. She did not acknowledge the presence of anything else.

Pinako came up to her and shook her shoulder, telling her gently and patiently that there were people there to see her. She did not respond. The woman grasped the girl's shoulder again, but nothing. No change at all from her obsessed behavior. Eventually Pinako just grasped the sides of the chair she was sitting on and turned it around sharply, so that she was yanked away from her vision and had the faces of the Colonel who killed her parents and the emaciated face of an old friend shoved forcefully into her face.

She did not seem to see them at first. Her eyes were still glazed over with the rhythm of her work, stuck in that world that only she lived in. Then she began to see. She looked at them harder, struggling to focus on their faces. Comprehension was slowly coming into her face, and when she realized who exactly it was that she was seeing, the shock of the forceful change morphed into terror, and then sadness. She was looking at Edward.

The only emotion she held in her features as she looked at him was incredible sorrow. It was then that Edward, who had been falling asleep against Roy's side, jolted up and spurred into wakefulness. He opened his eyes to see Winry's face covered with tears.

Roy saw that Edward was standing on one leg perfectly fine on his own, so he backed away from the two. From a distance, he could also see that Edward was shaking.

It was in his stance, Roy knew that the boy was fighting his hardest to stop an attack from coming on. He was fighting it with the heaviest willpower and resolve that Roy had ever seen him fight it. And he was apparently winning the battle. Even though he was quaking and rigid, he stood firm on his only leg and stayed calm in front of his childhood friend.

Winry just stood there dumbly, crying as she looked over Edward's pale, thin form and haunted face. Her hand trembled up and shot back down again, over and over, as she debated in her mind whether or not to reach up to touch that face. Whether she was brave enough to see if he was real.

Edward did not have that same indecision. He reached up with his flesh hand and wiped the tears from her face.

"Now, don't cry. I don't know why you're crying, but don't cry. It's okay, see?"

Edward's attempts to calm her down only made her cry harder.

"Oh, come on, whoever you are. Stop that. You don't need to be sad, alright? Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be okay. Things are always okay after a while, you just have to move forward."

Winry had not seen Edward, not even once since the incident. She did not know how Edward was sick now, what kind of effect Alphonse's death had had on him. But she knew in that moment that Edward did not know her anymore, and the tears poured harder down her face as she leaned into him. His leg was not strong enough to support them both, so he cautiously lowered them to the floor. He wrapped his right arm around her back.

"Please, don't cry."

Her sobs began to slow down, and she was nearly calm as she laid her head on his collarbone.

Roy could see Edward's face clearly when they were there on the floor, and he could tell that that panic was still fighting to surface. He was doing a magnificent job of pushing it down, and Roy could also see the confusion there. He had no idea why this girl crying caused him such pain. Those thoughts took a backseat to comforting Winry until now, but as she calmed the panic was beginning to return. There wasn't much time before it overcame him now. This would have to go fast,

Roy let them finish the moment. Winry stroked Edward's hair, grasping for reassurance, and he patted her back awkwardly in return. They rose gradually from the floor together. Edward was smiling at her for her own comfort. The line that kept his sanity was thinning.

Roy made sure that it was a quiet affair, sneaking over to Edward's side and catching him as he fell. Another good thing about the pills: violent side effects of the episodes were negated. He fell directly to sleep whenever the stress became too great.

He took Edward away. Winry was occupied by Pinako, who was briefing her on what she needed to do. The instructions for constructing entirely new automail, from the snippets that Roy heard of the conversation, were too complicated for any common prosthetics man. More than what a skilled craftsman could handle, he would guess. But the Rockbells had this down to a science. Winry could handle it, he was sure.

He carried Ed down the stairs again and put him on the couch, where they could operate easily. It was helpful that he still had his old ports and only needed the parts, otherwise this could've been a year-long process.

Roy went back to the kitchen, where Riza still waited patiently. He dropped into one of the wooden chairs and waited with her for the other two to come down. It took them a good fifteen minutes, most of which Roy imagined was probably spent on convincing Winry to come out of her room. It would be difficult for her to leave 'Alphonse' behind. She was convinced that she could fix him, and everything would be back to normal. She was stuck in this delusion, and never came out. It was all she had.

Hope truly does destroy in this world.

**-philos**

**I just wanted to thank all of you for sticking with it this far. It means a lot.**


	12. Chapter 12

Roy was sitting impatiently in the kitchen, listening to the soft tinkering sounds emanating from the living room. Winry had been working on Edward's automail for a while now, but they had to wait it out in the separate room for the work to be completed. It was exhausting.

Winry hadn't yet seen any of them other than Edward, so he couldn't quite say what her reaction would be if she noticed them. Maybe she wouldn't. In all reasonable thinking, it was possible that she would be taken back upstairs to that darkened room and continue her endless and predetermined to be fruitless quest to save Alphonse from a fate he had already succumbed to. Or, in equal probability, she could come out of that room and into theirs, the fixing of Edward completed, and look around at all of their faces without seeing them still. Her mental state would block them out as unnecessary or unimportant when there was no one to be fixed.

That was probably the key in all of this. Fixing people. Her primary goal was to repair Alphonse so that he could be whole again, or as whole as a soul bound to a metal suit of armor could be, regardless that she'd forgotten already about his human body. If there was any way she could bring Al back, the armor was the most viable path. Winry wasn't an alchemist.

But Edward came, broken and tattered, and she'd seen that as a detour. Something else to be done, to be fixed, and most likely he was the only broken thing that had the ability to sidetrack her as he'd done. He was the other half of the childhood pair that were so dear to her. She did not see Ed as the remaining one, or the overpowering half, all that was left of them. No, to her eyes, Edward and Alphonse were still equals.

Edward could be fixed more easily, though, and, despite whether she was conscious of it even now, he could actually utilize the repairs to form real function. Al could not, and Ed became priority. She wasn't aware of that, though. She just fixed him because he was there to fix. It was only in the very back of the deepest, darkest crevices of her mind that she knew that Alphonse couldn't return. But in her forward thinking, that wasn't the case. With every other fiber of her being, she believed that the suit of armor destroyed was the total undoing of Al, that if only that could be reversed, then he would come back.

It was her illusion. But perhaps, when death occurs, they all form illusions. It was easier to have an illusion than to be left with that hole. Roy could tell that much from experience. It was all too common for war-trained soldiers to come up with some sort of self-detrimental coping strategy. It was bad enough that they'd lost someone, but that that person brought others down with him in the process was even worse.

Death was an ugly affair, and these kids had had so much of it in their lives. It was too much. They were bound to break eventually, and the departure of someone so close to them finally did it.

Roy realized that his back was getting quite sore. Darn these wooden chairs, and this countryside frugality. He shifted around, chain of thought broken. The chair's legs squeaked loudly on the hard floor, but no one in the room flinched or made any sign of recognition.

It had just been that much of a wait, the baited, struggling, endless kind of wait. They were all bearing the same horrible experience, trying to last out here without being able to check on what happened _in there_. It was awful. He'd hate to create a mental link such as this, his years begging against it, but they all cared deeply about at least someone in the next room. It was painful to sit it out like this, with the both of them out of sight.

He hoped the work would go by quickly, because he couldn't stand this much longer.

They'd been sitting in various places around the kitchen since it started. None of them wanted to move or talk, really, so they sat in silence. Roy cast a glance at both of the other inhabitance. At least their silence left him room enough to think about the situation.

Riza was leaning back in her equally uncomfortable wooden chair, looking like she was about to fall asleep. He wondered if she'd slept at all on the way here. It was hard to say, with him being busy managing Edward's unconscious load. He would bet that she hadn't, by the way she looked now. Although, he was sure that if need be she was perfectly alert and ready for any coming situation.

Pinako sat low in her chair, a squat stool in the corner. Roy pondered briefly about that one's comfort level, but left the thought unfinished. Pinako's eyes were calm and assessing, face set in a mask of grim patience. Every feature led blatantly to her determined wisdom. It surprised Roy, even though it shouldn't have. So she wasn't just a crazy, government hating old bat after all. Good to know.

Roy realized with some note of revelation that he trusted these people. Actually trusted them, as much as he could trust anyone else. His war comrades, his team, anyone. Riza should have been a given, but the mere fact that he was surrounded by souls whose decisions he could trust were the best and feelings he knew were pure and non-conspiratory, well, that was an amazement in and of itself.

The fact that Pinako was included in this admission was even more earth-shattering. What the hell was he doing trusting Pinako?

Even so, it felt… nice. Nice to have people he was able to trust. And that he knew they were completely alone like that, well, that was something he could never find in Central. Maybe there was something to this country living after all.

He felt a sharp pain in his lower back from sitting in the same position on that damned wooden chair again.

So no. Country life was for the old and the stupid. But still, he was thankful for the quiet.

"Hey, Musty, stop marking up my floor. Those chairs aren't meant to move like that."

There were no advantages.

And he still had no idea when Winry would finish already so he could get his Edward and leave.

**-philos**

**And happy birthday to me, whooooo**


	13. Chapter 13

Roy pulled at the fingertips of his gloves impatiently, slipping them firmly back to their original position and pulling them out one at a time again. The habitual action had formed only in the past few minutes of waiting, but was quick to become a thoughtless motion that he could do without conscious effort. He hoped it wouldn't turn out to be a lasting habit.

They had been waiting for the young mechanic to finish for what felt like hours upon hours, still sitting around on those stupid wooden chairs. One quick glance at the wooden framed clock on the wall above the stove, an image he had become very well acquainted with, revealed that it had only been an hour and a half since they arrived at the Rockbells'. Since they'd _arrived_. Never mind the time they'd spent waiting for Edward to wake up, getting Winry to come out of her hole, and dragging Ed's unconscious body around to the living room and positioning him for the repair.

At least they weren't bumming around in silence anymore, which he still wasn't quite sure about liking or not. But, regardless of his opinion, they had found conversation among themselves.

"So what are the winters here like? It seems as though the sun never stops shining out in the country," Riza was making light discussion with Pinako. Somehow the topic had gone from Edward's destruction of his automail and blackout frequency to the weather solely in the time they'd been talking. Funny, that. Roy had stopped paying attention after the talk waned away from his interest, and that made the change all the more bizarre.

They continued whatever it was they were saying about the weather. Roy stopped in to listen, it wasn't interesting, and he was out. Back to playing with his gloves. Maybe in a few more minutes they would progress into another, more entertaining or captivating, field.

He was about to lose himself again in thought, but a phrase brought him back into the conversation.

"Oh yes, there's going to be quite the storm coming through in these next few days."

"What does that mean, old lady?"

"Well, among other things, it means that you won't be able to leave here until the day after tomorrow at least."

"What?! You couldn't have mentioned this before? We have a schedule to keep here, too," Roy pelted. "On what basis is this? Don't tell me there's a weatherman in Resembool."

"Of course not," she scoffed. Apparently, weathermen were up there with military officers on her hit list. "But I can feel it in my bones. It's in the air, as well."

"It _is_ inconvenient to our work, Pinako. Can you be certain?" Riza interrupted before Roy could act on his fiery impulses. (pun) He maintained the hard stare, though. This was unfair to their efficiency, and the old bat barely knew what she was taking about.

Although, in some part of his mind that he'd rather ignore right now, he knew that she was right about the storm. He was good at ignoring that specific train of thought, however, and it kept his awareness wholeheartedly on his side of the argument.

"Of course I'm certain! An old lady knows these things."

"Can you really? This is outrageous. You're saying that the blue skies and sunshine of the happy hunky dory country loving Resembool change to storm clouds, that make the journey implausible, at that, happens just when we come here? Exactly how often does it rain here, anyway? Judging by the grassy vegetation and the building structure on most of the houses we've seen, not very often. Even the farmland placement indicates that there is little rainfall."

"I never said that it was likely, I said that it is going to happen. That's the difference."

"So you're positive about this extremely improbable event just because the heebie jeebie winds indicated it? Or was it some sort of primal, country living spirit dance you do here?"

"Shut it, dog. You'll just have to suck it up and stay here one more day."

"The sky is perfectly clear! There is no reason to stay!"

"Look out there in a few moments and you'll be seeing dark clouds to the east," she reassured him, gesturing towards the window.

He couldn't believe this. Intuition was one thing, but this was practically witchcraft-level crazy timing. He looked at the clock.

"'Moments' aren't exactly accurate measures of time. Minutes or hours, here? Or do your old person powers not include specifics?"

"You're getting on my nerves, Musty. Minutes."

"Okay. I'll look out there in three minutes."

"Sounds about right."

"Fine then."

"Fine."

Riza shook her head at them, barely smiling. Clearly she was exasperated with the amount of childish behavior in the room. Roy didn't care. He would prove the crazy old woman wrong. He crossed his arms and fixated his glare at the clock, ticking away inconspicuously on the wall above the stove.

One minute passed in tense silence. His secondary thinking tried to work out what the feeling was.

Two minutes. He realized that this was mostly an excuse not to think about the horrors of life and what exactly Edward and Winry were enduring.

Three minutes.

"Time's up! I'm looking out there now, and you know what I'll see?" He said as he pulled the curtain away, looking at the women. "See, clear skies all aroun-"

His triumphant address was disposed of as he saw that not only were there, indeed, storm clouds brewing on the horizon, but also that a man was walking up the drive, nearly at the door. He looked angry, and somehow familiar.

Roy's face melded back to its usual indifference as he watched the man approach the door and raise his fist to it. He had not seen Roy at the window, gaze remaining fixed in apparent annoyance at the door in front of him.

Roy rushed the door, catching it and pulling it open before the man could knock and possibly send the two in the other room into seizures or something. It was all too likely, considering the aggravation spread across his features. The knock would've come loudly and swiftly, and all too easily could've reached and filled the living room, which was so close to it. The only option he could come up with in time was to pull the door open, away from the man.

He was no less angry now that the doorway had been cleared. In fact, the irritation shared more with the qualities of rage as he saw Roy's face. He wondered dimly what he could've done to earn someone's hatred this time.

"You! You're the one," he half shouted in his anger, raising an accusing finger in Roy's direction.

"Don't you know that it's rude to point like this?" Roy said in response, lazily pushing the hand down with a purposefully bored expression. Alright, so he couldn't help pissing off this guy a little further. It was a stressful day.

"You should be ashamed of yourself, doing what you've done," he kept going, even with the blatant disregard towards his tirade. Roy stared in interest at the man's facial hair. It was quite horrific, if you looked at it closely enough. The hair bushed out in little segments and formed an incomplete and unmanaged beard. The hair on his head was in equal shabbiness, to tell the truth. But the beard was fascinating to watch as the man yelled, tufts bobbing up and down with his chin.

"What, exactly, are you shouting about?"

"Look at this, you've-"

"If you're going to be going at this for a while, would you like to come inside? My legs are getting tired."

The man was taken aback, and agreed only with suspicious hesitation. He was escorted to the kitchen, where Riza and Pinako waited in confusion. The man pulled one of the uncomfortable chairs away from the table a bit and sat in it, while Roy just stood leaning against the counter. He needed to stretch his legs, anyway. He wouldn't be sitting in those chairs anymore.

"Now, explain to me what I've done here," Roy started.

"Why would you bring another one here? Don't you know that Granny Rockbell's already got enough trouble with just the one? She doesn't need any more of this!" He shouted mostly at the end, looking to Pinako for some sort of recognition. She, to Roy's pleasure, gave him only a raised eyebrow.

"Another what, exactly?"

"Another messed up kid! Heck, she's got the girl screaming and crying and locked away up there, and she doesn't need another mental case. This isn't some hospital where you can just drop off your charges, pal. Take whatever you've brought here back to the city where you came from."

Now Roy remembered where he'd seen this guy. He'd been the one with the donkey horse walking by when they were bringing Edward in the house.

"You, sir, are poorly misinformed about the situation. Get out of here, now." It was not Roy who dismantled the man, but Pinako. And she looked very, very angry.

The man seemed to sense that the area was no longer safe for him, so he rose hastily from his chair, so much so that it topped over, and pardoned himself goodbye before sprinting out the door. He had a slight limp. Clearly he valued his life, with the speed at which he left, because Pinako looked like she wanted to crush his bones and make a delicious stew with their marrow.

She calmed down after the man was gone, but remains of her fury still stuck at the corners of the room.

"That man," she stated with gritted teeth. "Does not know what he is talking about."

And that was that. The man, whatever his name was, was never mentioned again, although Pinako probably did know him personally and could tell more about him.

The silence prevailed again, because they all knew that any attempt to talk would be strained at best after that little experience. So they were left with their thoughts, each to their own.

Roy had been effected by what the man had said. It was all pure insanity, of course, but there was still something in it that he hadn't considered.

Winry had, of course, been changed by Al's sudden death. They all had. Edward and Winry more than anyone else, but they were all still in some way different after. That was the thing about death. It never touches just one person. Alphonse's death had been particularly painful. Blasted apart, blood seal wiped away, metal demolished, and all in front of Edward's helpless eyes. It was a terrible affair, but it came and had to be dealt with.

Winry and Edward didn't deal with it, or at the very least, didn't deal with it well. Edward blocked it all out, along with nearly everything else, and Winry locked herself into her delusions. Did that mean that they were broken, messed up? Messed up, sure, they were a wreck. But were they broken, just as Alphonse had been? Without repair, or the possibility of getting better.

It had to be confronted, because, as much as Roy liked to believe that he could help Edward get through this, they needed to know whether he had been damaged by Al's death or changed by it. If he was changed, permanently and irrevocably, then… Then…

He didn't know. He honestly didn't know.

* * *

They waited for hours. Two of them, actually, but that filled the requirement to change the ending to a plural one, so it seemed longer and could invoke more sympathy if this story was ever retold.

After two hours of tinkering and fitting and automailing, Winry exited the living room and nodded once, to no one in particular. Then she turned and went upstairs, returning to her empty work. But it was done, and when they went to examine it, Edward's leg was in the best condition it had ever been in (unless you count when it was actually still a leg) and it looked ready for any function it needed to serve.

Looking at his arm, she had done that as well, replacing the old prosthetic with an entirely new metal arm. One that Edward could actually use, if necessary. The old port was still in place, so the outer parts were the only ones that really needed any change. It wasn't as if he'd grown that much in the past few years, anyway.

They were perfectly done with the skill and grace of an automail master, a genius in the art. Winry really had been improving. They were done with all they needed to do and could go home with Edward as a wholly functioning human again.

They would head for the train station, but a downpour had started up and the roads were flooding or too muddy to travel. They would have to wait to leave until the day after tomorrow at least.

**-philos**


	14. Chapter 14

Edward woke to the sound of utter silence, and it was deafening. Especially when he knew, he just _knew_, that something was definitely wrong.

He had yet to even open his eyes, but he could tell that, firstly, this was not where he usually was. This was somewhere different, and that could only mean that it was dangerous. Not necessarily dangerous as in a 'surprise, you've been kidnapped' kind of way, but more in a sense that he could never fully trust the unknown, so any new environment forced him to be wary.

But this place especially, it felt… strange. He couldn't quite place it. It felt familiar in the same way that warm stew or the color red did. That feeling that he thought he could find only with the Mustangs, and the same feeling that stirred up other things; abandonment, disappointment. All of it came akin to this place, this new place that he hadn't even seen yet. But the smell of the air and the feel of the couch right then brought every part of him that wasn't made of logic to the same overall conclusion: this strange place was home.

And that thought terrified him. What home was this that he couldn't remember? Could it be someone trying to create a false sense of security? A trap? He couldn't be sure.

Now that he'd used his other senses and determined that the area was most likely vacant for the time being, he could safely proceed to open his eyes. It was standard for this kind of situation, considering that opening the eyes would immediately alert enemies of regained consciousness and nullify any sort of advantage to be had by feigning sleep.

He slit one eye open just enough to peer at his surroundings. No other parties could be currently identified. Silky dawn light was streaming through into the room, but he couldn't tell immediately exactly how early it was. The silence prevailed, and he didn't know if he was actually alone or if it was simple sleep that separated him from others. Whether the possible companions were friends or foes had yet to be ascertained.

He shook his head minutely. This was ridiculous. He couldn't even remember half of his actual military experiences and yet he continued to follow through on those behaviors purely on instinct, or an automatic reflex. But there wasn't any danger here, probably.

Now he remembered. Roy had said they were going to some place, so this must be it. Now where the hell _was_ Mustang? He was hungry. And the couch was getting less and less comfortable with each progressing moment that he spent pressed against it. He sat up halfway and swung his legs over the edge unsteadily. How long had he been out?

Edward was about to stand up, and only recalled that he had a missing appendage when he was nearly to the floor. Quickly, he lifted that leg away to stop it from making contact and possibly damaging it. He did this with too much enthusiasm, jerking around and falling immediately back onto the couch.

But the leg felt different. More weight than normal, longer… He looked at it. Automail. Hesitantly, he examined it.

At some point he discovered that his hand, too, was now metallic.

It felt right. Only now could he say how disastrously wrong the cheap prosthetics were to him. He never would've tolerated them for so long if he'd realized this sooner.

He was captivated by the smooth metal, the mechanics of the new right hand and the respective arm. When he looked at it, he could almost remember. A scream. The sound of metal scraping against metal. Immense pain. Terror, sorrow. The beginnings of a cold rainstorm camouflaging the hot liquid streams on his own face. He remembered these things, and knew that the hand also had some significance in the memory.

On an impulse, he lifted his arms and brought the hands together, flesh meeting steel with a soft clap. Even though it was done without much meaning and without much force, the action excited him to no end.

He discarded the notion. It was stupid, and he needed to move. It was time to test out that leg.

He didn't know how he knew where he was going, but he managed to navigate through the house in near darkness and reach the front door. His flesh hand landed on the doorknob, guided by the quiet light from a small window nearby. The world outside was just as silent as the house, but enormously so. It was so wide and open, rolling hills and no horizon. The rain still came down, just as it did in the memory. Maybe it had never stopped.

The automail empowered him. He drew strength from its meaning, its weight, and flung the door wide open. The mismatched feet pounded, bare against the wet ground, one after the other. He was running, he was outside, he was free.

**-philos**


	15. Chapter 15

Edward found himself sitting on a riverbank, soaking wet and out of breath. His clothes were plastered to his skin and his loose hair clung together in sopping tendrils, and the rain still came down on him relentlessly even though he had long since reached the point where he could not be any more soaked through. The mud by the river coated his hands, feet and clothing. And he could not care less.

He actually enjoyed the sensation of it all, the mud and grass beneath him, rain pelting his face like miniscule shards of glass. It was so _exhilarating_, being awake and alive and feeling more sensations than he had felt in years.

He pushed his right foot further into the malleable ground. It was sore after running, much like the rest of him. His chest heaved and brought in aching breath after breath of harsh, cold air. It stung, but in a good way. He had no idea how long he'd been sprinting, or why he came to this spot on the river. He hadn't even really wanted to stop, but something at the back of his mind forced him to stop here.

Edward figured it must've been a long time, because the sun was peeking over the distant hills, where the heavy clouds ended. The storm was moving as west as the sun, so it would be over soon. And considering that when he'd left, the sun had been barely hinting at a presence, about a fifty degree angle below the horizon, and now it was… He plugged in some quick math and trajectory, and resolved that he'd been outside for nearly two and a half hours. Huh.

While he had his head aimed up at the sky, the rain started to let up. The clouds were getting thinner as the storm passed, making way for more sunshine. It cast strange and beautiful rays across the cloud line, making orange shapes on the most distant ones. Edward sat and watched, hoping only that the moment could last longer than it would. The sunrise was magnificent.

He stayed there for quite some time, watching as the sun came fully above the green domes and illuminated most of the countryside, playing wide rainbows were the rays collided with the remaining water droplets. The river before him calmed from the raging monster it had been before, now that the rain had stopped fueling its temper. He stayed until something urged him to stand and leave it, and he knew a second after he did rise that it was because he would be missed if he did not return soon.

He had to go back to the strange house, where Roy and Riza were. Roy might not get up so early, but Riza would. He had to get back before she woke up, otherwise they would worry about him unnecessarily.

Even as he thought it, an odd feeling came over him. An old feeling. What did he care if they did worry? He could be lazy, drift around here. It would probably be fine. Why should he go back?

Old habits, he recognized. And so very tempting to act on.

But he went anyway. He owed them too much to stay where he was. He had to go back.

If he could even find his way back, that is. He'd gone a long way to get to the river, and this was a strange place to him. But then again, he found his way around the house just fine, and the hills and paths looked exceptionally familiar now that it was partially illumined. He felt like he knew it somehow.

He jogged back without hazard or hesitation, and was surprised by how easy it was when the house came into view. He slowed to a walk. The familiarity reached its peak. He _knew_ this house. There was a sign out front, but he couldn't read it. The sunlight hadn't quite reached this place, and he was still pretty far away.

Suddenly a light shone from a second story window. It was small, no bigger than a flashlight or a lantern might be, and it was pointed directly toward him. His brain malfunctioned again. He thought that the beam would stop him in his tracks, but his legs pushed a little harder. It was welcoming. The light flashed on and off, and as he got closer, he could see a person behind it. It was still too dark to make out any details.

He did not stop to look at the person in the window. Instead he rushed to the door, not bothering to knock as he pushed it open and edged inside. The lights were still off. No signs of life, save for the mystery person on the second floor. He had made it in time.

Unfortunately, even when caked with halfway-dried mud, metal limbs make a lot of noise when put into contact with hard flooring. And loud noises tend to wake what is sleeping. Like a grumpy Mustang, for example.

"What- What is it?!" Edward heard from an adjacent room. Roy stepped out from it, head swiveling in search of danger. His eyes locked on Edward. Riza followed him.

"Fullmetal! _Why_ are you soaking wet and- Is that mud? You're tracking it everywhere. What were you doing this time?" Roy had assumed his commanding persona, exasperated and authoritative. It wasn't alien to him, but it was abnormal. Roy almost never talked that way anymore.

"Well I'm sorry, bastard. Is the wittle bit of icky mud getting on your nerves?" Edward replied easily. It was really just an automatic response to him at this point. Defenses for the bastard's rants. Which worked about thirty five percent of the time.

"That is not a 'little bit', it's all over the place. And all over _you_, what, did you fall into a puddle?"

"Are you trying to insinuate that there is a problem with my _height_, to the extent that a puddle would drown such a little shrimp, you bastard?!"

"It isn't my fault that you happen to be extremely dwarfish, Fullmetal. You should not be tracking mud all over the place. Why were you outside to begin with?"

"I am _not_ DWARFISH, and I was only out there because I needed to stretch my legs. Is that a _problem_, Colonel?" He felt really worked up now, completely immersed in the banter. So it didn't even register at first when Mustang's demeanor changed entirely. There was a long pause. Mustang looked away from him.

"Colonel? …Yes, that's it, isn't it," Roy muttered to himself, just audible enough for Edward to hear him. The older man's face was drawn and contemplative, as if trying to work out a puzzle that he had already put together many times before. It was tired.

Roy glanced down at Edward's leg, and then his arm, and nodded.

"Just come inside here, Ed. We can clean it up later." He held his arm out, ushering Edward into the living room. Edward gave him a questioning glance before following the command. He was getting cold and didn't like the quiet concern he was getting from the two adults. It was weird.

And he wanted to find out who that person upstairs was, so going forward would at least get him closer to solving that mystery. He went in. Roy and Riza followed.

"Geez, Ed, could you be any louder with that leg? You're going to wake everyone up."

"What? Aren't you both awake? Who else is there?"

The Mustangs exchanged glances. Clearly they knew something Edward didn't. Which was slightly infuriating.

They entered the living room and Edward recognized it as the room he'd woken up in. A faint indent was still in the middle of the couch from where he'd been sleeping, and now that it was lighter outside he could see more of the details of the room. It, like everything else in this place, was sorely familiar. He grabbed a towel from where he knew they would be and began wiping the mud off.

"What, did you bring me to the land of déjà vu or something?"

"More like place of jamais vu," Mustang remarked disgruntledly from behind.

"What the heck is that supposed to mean?" Edward snapped back at him. Mustang looked like he hadn't expected Edward to hear him.

"The experience of not recognizing something that is already known," He said in that smart ass, uppity tone. Once a smug bastard, always a smug bastard.

"Of course I know what jamais vu is; I've read all the books in your library as well as you have. I just want to know how you think this applies to me."

"Well…"

There was a lot of uncomfortable shifting from the adults' direction now.

"'Well'? What is it?"

Riza looked like she was about to answer, but Edward was sick of this. He had to leave, before he gained even more meaningless questions without answers.

He pushed past them both, still eerily knowing the layout of the house, and found the stairs. His anonymous person would be up there. He started climbing, without looking back.

Roy and Riza didn't follow him, he guessed it was because they couldn't stand being around him anymore. He understood completely. So he was gone, and he would find his own answers without them having to tell him anything.

He found the door to the room that would face the front of the house, where the person would be, and stood behind it. He didn't know if he should knock in this situation or whatever. He raised his fist to tap gently on it, but thought against it in the last minute and went straight for the doorknob. It might've been rude, but he felt like it was okay and his gut feelings were really all he could trust here.

The door swung open easily and silently.

He looked in at the scene in revealed. A mess of metal and fabric and a jumble of other miscellaneous things crowded most of the floor, and stood up in towers nearly as tall as he was. It looked even worse than his room back at the Mustangs'. Past all the clutter he could see a desk and shaded lamp that didn't provide much light. Something large and metallic was next to the desk, but he couldn't quite make it out with all the other things blocking his vision.

And at the farthest end there was a window. And, more importantly, a girl sitting in the window seat, gazing away from him and out into the sky. He hesitated before approaching her around all of the obstacles in the room. The soft carpet and scattered debris muffled his steps, so that she didn't notice him coming up to her. Her hair was long and blonde, but lighter than his own, and she had hers in a very loose ponytail. He could see that her hands were covered with gloves that were more machine oil than glove at this point, and there was a rather large and intimidating wrench loosely clenched in one of them.

Out of all the things he'd recognized, she was the strongest in his not-memory. He _knew_ her, he just _knew_ her…

"Winry?"

His voice startled them both. She jolted and turned viciously toward him, halfway to her feet before she even saw who he was. Her wrench was brought aloft, and he jumped back a few inches. Even with that retreat, they were still only a few feet apart.

Then he met her eyes. She went limp, face losing any hostility and limbs falling limp. She looked sad. Edward did not want her to be sad, ever. So this was unacceptable.

"Winry," he tried again.

She looked like she was going to cry, but that seemed to sober her up. She managed a small grin.

"Of course that's my name, you moron. Who else would I be?" She stood up as she said this, and reached into her pocket. The gap between them was smaller than ever.

"Now get yourself together, Ed," she said quietly as she pulled something from her pocket. A hair tie. She reached behind his head and pulled his hair into a quick braid. He stared at her curiously throughout the exchange. He knew this girl, and there seemed to be a lot of memories attached to her. If only he could piece them out…

She had finished tying it off, and her hands withdrew to her sides. They stood facing each other.

And Edward remembered her.

He remembered the childhood friend, the girl whose parents died, the mechanic, the swinger of wrenches and the strong girl who stayed alone with her grandmother when he had to leave. That was it. There were still holes in the story, and things that he couldn't quite recall, but this was enough for now.

Some of the holes had been filled. And Winry, _Winry_, he remembered her.

So he could see how broken she was. Her hair was disheveled, clothing rumpled, looking frail and weak, and like she hadn't seen sunlight in years. But there was something in her eyes, which had been hidden by relief until now, something manic. It was wild and obsessive, and had been ingrained there for a very long time. She was worse off than he was.

And a part of him died inside knowing that. He had failed, he couldn't protect her. Whatever it was that made her this way, he couldn't stop it. It felt terrible.

"Ed. You should go now," she commanded quietly, looking away from him. He tried to follow her gaze, because she was looking toward that metal thing from before, but she stopped him with a hand.

"Please. You need to go now. We're busy in here. And you need to get on with it, already, okay?"

He tried to talk to her some more, tried to get her to say something normal, but nothing worked. Eventually her pleading was so insistent that he couldn't stay there. She practically pushed him out the door, wrench in hand.

The door closed behind him and he was alone. Winry was there, but she was far out of his reach. After a long pause, he went down the stairs.

IEIEIEIEIIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIE

Roy was just about through with waiting. Edward had been gone for far too long, and he still didn't know what the hell the boy was doing. He had only lasted this long because Riza had insisted that they wait.

He was getting up to chase after the teen when he came back into view.

"Well, you took long enough. What were you doing that whole time?"

Edward shrugged and slumped onto the couch. He looked tired. No, not so much tired as… worn. He looked about ten years older now than he had when he'd gone. It only made Roy wonder about what he'd been up to even more. He was disturbed by this development.

But he let it go. It didn't look like Edward would be too willing to talk about his experiences, anyway.

So they continued to talk quietly about mostly trivial things until Pinako entered, finally awake, and even then the conversation was mostly about the same trivial stuff but this time with Pinako. And all through it, Edward just sat quietly on the couch, staring into space.

He was distant to all of them, but not like he was throwing an emotional tantrum or anything. He was just thoughtful. And it bugged the hell out of Roy. What was going on in that head now?

Whatever it was that was bothering Ed, it never surfaced. They went on with the day, at noon forcing some food into the blonde, but that was all the interaction that occurred.

Finally it was deep into the evening. Pinako gauged the situation and announced that it would be safe enough for them to travel before nightfall. They could finally, finally leave. Roy couldn't be more grateful. Sure, it was great for a little while, but the isolation and the lack of amenities in the country could get to a man after a while.

They were leaving as soon as possible. He would make sure of that.

"Edward, it's time to go. We're leaving."

"What? Oh, oh yeah, I guess so." The boy got up slowly from the couch. His automail leg squeaked loudly, causing everyone in the room to jump. The sound was like something from a nightmare.

"Romping around in the rain for hours with automail, honestly!" Pinako was very disgruntled as she oiled down Ed's leg, muttering about how they should've let her dry it properly sooner.

To be fair, her anger was probably justified. They hadn't considered the very specific care needed for the automail when they let Edward go and do whatever he wanted with minimal drying. He was lucky he didn't have a cold as well.

As soon as Pinako had finished, Roy grabbed the two blondes, charged outside, and tossed them all in the waiting car. He was driving them down to the train station before seat belts were even a thought.

Riza was lucky enough to have secured herself before they got to the really twisted, bumpy sections of the road. Edward was not so fortunate.

"Stop, gah, driving so damned fast, oof, you damned, bastard," he managed to shout from the backseat, where he was being tossed around like a ragdoll against the sides of the car. Something like that wasn't inclined to kill him, so Roy was not inclined to care. He drove faster. The train station was only a few minutes away and the next train would be leaving soon.

When they did get to the station, _on time_ thank you very much, Edward was stumbling around like he had an inner ear problem and even Riza looked a bit green in the face.

They did make the train, though.

**-philos**


	16. Chapter 16

The countryside flew past outside the train windows, skies mockingly blue and pristine now that they were leaving the place. The rolling hills were still beautiful, although not so much as they had been when they'd first come, and this was the fourth flock of sheep they'd passed. The country, it turned out, was nearly as monotonous as the city.

Roy leaned back in his seat. This train didn't have any compartment cars, so they were stuck in the community class seats. He couldn't remember the last time he'd even been in a community train car, and now they were forced to take the long journey between Central and Resembool in one due to convenience. This train was the only one that would come through in the next week.

Thanks to the reduced train times, it could soon be even less frequent than that. The attacks on commuting vessels that Sheska mentioned were getting worse recently, and the travel system had been compromised because of that. So that meant fewer trains and fewer options. This fight was getting personal.

He looked around at the other passengers. There were enough to fill most of the seats, but not too many. Most of them were from other little towns, all of which had to pool together on the same train going to Central. It wasn't as if there were enough people just coming from Resembool to fill half a train car, let alone justify a whole train. Actually the only people from Resembool were himself and his group of three, and a woman from the far end of the town.

She didn't seem to recognize Edward when she got on, and Roy could still see her sitting three seats away. Maybe she'd wanted to be near something from her hometown, even if they were unfamiliar to her. She looked anxious, probably because she was going to the big city. Maybe she was going to see a loved one there.

Roy dismissed the concentration he had pointlessly put on the stranger. There were plenty other interesting passengers. A sickly pale couple of men sat on the far end of their car, both fairly built, with dark hair and eyes. An old woman to the right of them knitting. A little boy and his father, who were wearing matching fishing vests. A frail old man, accompanied by a woman and girl who were so alike they must have been related. Twin girls with matching pigtails and their father.

Finally the progression of his evaluation got to his own seat. Riza sat next to him on the aisle side, while he took the window. She was reading again, but the novel was so worn that it must've been the thousandth time she'd gone through it. She looked tired. It wasn't surprising; they were both awake most of the night before and traveling took a lot of energy out of a person. He was pretty drained himself.

He could see her slowly nodding off.

Across from him, in the adjacent window seat, was Edward. The seats were placed so that every two were opposite, so they were facing each other. He could only see the side of the boy's face, because he was facing out the window just as Roy had been a few minutes ago. His bangs covered most of his face, but Roy could see that his eyebrows were furrowed in either anger or concentration. Or, knowing Ed, determination.

Edward was much more wide-awake than he and Riza put together, but he seemed more composed and docile than usual, probably thinking about the last two days. He'd gone through a lot. Even if Roy didn't know about everything that happened, it was obvious how much the recent experiences had changed him. He seemed shell-shocked, in all honesty. Paralyzed in a loop of thoughts dwelling on something.

It was probably Winry. At least, she's what triggered it. Edward whispered her name a few times after he came back to the living room. Actually, since then, he'd seemed to move on to other thoughts. Maybe contemplating the meaning of life, Roy didn't know. It really rather pissed the shit out of Roy that he didn't know. He liked knowing these things.

But he did like the change in Ed's mental state. It looked like the automail helped him, or the place helped him, or maybe it was all of that together, but the fact that he could go outside alone spoke volumes. It was insane, the progress that was made nearly overnight. They should've done this years ago.

But then, years ago it might not have worked. With all the random factors involved, it could be that only this series of events could trigger any recovery. Or maybe that was just him trying to make himself feel better after it had taken all this time, and there was no changing it now.

Edward shifted position, moving his automail hand from underneath his chin and to his knee. It was only jarring because that had been the entire range of his motion for the last ten minutes.

The young blonde blinked, drawing a strand of hair into his eye. This broke the trance.

"Ouch, just get out of there… erg." He grunted to himself as he scrambled around to remove it, one arm flailing about uselessly. His knee straightened on a reflex, and the sight as a whole was so utterly opposite from the visual before that it was pretty comedic. Roy laughed.

"What? What is it? You think this is funny? Screw you. It hurt." This outburst only made Roy laugh harder. Riza stirred in her sleep beside him.

"Of course not, Fullmetal. Why would I think anything like that?" There it was again. It was like an impulse, using that name. He'd tried to avoid it, but the compulsion was much stronger now that the automail limbs were back and in full view. Something about them just put his mind back to the times when things were normal.

It was silly. The limbs changed nothing about the current situation or the past.

"Because you're a bastard. Stop laughing! Why does my pain amuse you?!"

He was practically shouting now and pointing an angry finger at Roy's face, attracting quite a bit of attention. Several passengers were looking their way, and the whole train would be involved soon if he didn't shut up.

"Quiet, can't you see that there are other people around us? Or are you blind now, too?"

"Shut up, Mustang, it's your fault anyway," Ed grumbled, but he sank down in his seat, arms crossed. The little audience they'd attracted from the rest of the car soon sat down and went back to their own business.

Riza sleep hadn't broken even once through the whole engagement. She must've been really out of it. Roy wondered quietly how many mornings it had been where she was up before the rest of them because she hadn't slept at all. They'd both had their share of sleepless nights.

He went back to looking out the window. It was getting late; he could see the moon low on the horizon. The scenery wasn't as vast and open as Resembool anymore. They were in an area that was mostly brush and trees, and he could only see the slowly darkening sky through the short gaps between foliage.

The train's inhabitance were getting really quiet now, save for the clicking of the old woman in the back's knitting needles. One of the two men across the aisle from her started humming. He ran a hand through his dark hair and then dusted a piece of lint off of his similarly dark clothing. Roy was all about the sleek, dark and dangerous image, but those two were definitely taking it too far.

They both had wide, calculating eyes so dark that the irises and pupils seemed to be one solid color, and the evening light made their already pale skin look grotesquely so. Roy couldn't identify the tune that the shorter one was humming, although it was simple in melody.

He returned his attention to Edward, but he, surprisingly, was also watching the strangers. And, from the look of his intent gaze, he had been doing so even before Roy had caught on. The golden eyes did not waver once from their target as he watched them. Roy had a hard time looking away from the intense gaze, even though it was not directed at him.

As much as his gut objected, Roy wanted to forget about the strangers. And, out of sheer determination, he mostly did. It wasn't like anything was actually going to happen, but he was paranoid. He was always paranoid, from the war and every other experience as an officer.

Just as he was closing his eyes, trying to take a leaf from Riza's book, an ear-devastating bang sounded behind him, followed by searing heat.

He was thrown forward, and had just enough time to grab Riza, who hit her waking head on the seat, and think 'Damn my perfect premonitions,' before hitting the floor, where Edward's feet would've been. He managed to flip himself over onto his back to see what was happening, but before he could do anything about it he saw something that shocked him enough to stay put. He turned a little more.

From this position, he could see Edward. Edward, who was standing on top of his seat, fire in his eyes and transmuted spear in hand. Roy hadn't even seen him make it, but there was a long metal weapon held aloft in a defensive position and a large piece of frame missing from their bench.

Edward's eyes took account quickly of all the other passengers before locking onto one spot, probably the direction of the assailants, and morphing into deep anger. He shot forward, away from view, and toward the attackers.

Roy moved as soon as he did, lifting Riza off of himself and placing her gently on the undamaged seat. He got up, ready to take care of the situation, pulling his gloves tighter against his fingers. He was ready to snap, precise and practiced aim that would not cause so much damage to be unwarranted, probably. But the motion would get the job done.

Instead of snapping, though, he stopped. Because Edward was actually holding his own. Not only that, he was handling the situation quite efficiently, with two or three attacks for every one of the opponents' and incredible alchemic prowess that he hadn't seen since… Edward. Three years before. And all of the same talent was before him now, as the attackers were swiftly knocked out in quick succession and put in a transmuted prison-barred box. Only then did Roy advance, taking full inventory of the scene.

No one but the two men were injured, although they'd blown a great chunk out of the back of the train, and a couple of the kids were crying. Edward just stood next to the trap he'd made. Roy could only see the back of him, standing strong and renewed. Then his shoulders slumped, and his head cocked slightly to the side. He was still rail thin and weak-looking, but the braid that had been so long absent was there, and he automail shone brightly in the artificial light of the carriage.

Roy walked up behind him. He could see that the boy was shaking faintly. As soon as Edward recognized the familiar presence behind him, he slumped back into the older man. Roy caught him as he fell, putting his arms around the teen's middle. Dead weight. The kid had passed out.

The rest of the train ride went smoothly, after the people had been moved to another car and given the proper accommodations. Luckily the train still moved after one of the cars had been exploded.

The two men eventually woke up, sometime in the night, and were proximately interrogated. They showed a significant lack of hesitance when it came to giving out information. It was soon found out that they were spies from Drachma, and were part in one of the many travel interceptions being staged around the country. The explosive that was meant to go on the main engine went off too early, so the train wasn't stopped entirely. They were meant to kill every person on the train as a warning to Amestris.

The two were kept as prisoners, but it was obvious to Roy that they would be further questioned in Central and then disposed of. Some things didn't change, even with the newest change in the higher government.

They rode out the rest of the trip. Riza woke up before Edward, which was unexpected. She did hit her head pretty hard on the seat in that fall, and she had a nasty purple knot near her temple. He informed her of the situation and then, go figure, she went back to reading her book. It was like some sort of ritual. He went back to waiting, miffed by her refusal to pay attention to him. Edward's lifeless frame next to him was just as distant. He returned to his window watching.

Edward woke up a mere half hour before they arrived at Central. He sat up as his eyes open and stretched enormously. He didn't bother turning to Roy before he spoke, just assuming that he was somewhere nearby.

"Wha-" A large yawn interrupted. "What did I miss?"

Roy had no idea how to interpret this. Did he not remember the action or simply want to know what happened since he'd passed out? It would be bad to misread that.

But Edward's face still held the fire from earlier. He still knew what it was to fight.

"They were apprehended and interrogated," Roy started. He was about to give very precarious information, but decided to go with it. "They would have attacked the people. You did a good job."

It might have been wrong to tell Edward this, but he needed to know. He needed to know that he'd done well, and he needed to know how much he actually had done. Even if the boy might take it in the wrong way.

Roy studied the young alchemist's face, but he couldn't make anything out from the jumble of emotions.

"I-I did that with my hands. The clapping, and the transmutation. The alchemy. I remember it now."

Roy remained in silence. Edward was looking away from him, down to the right somewhere, where there was nothing to look at but flooring. He was in his own head now.

"I knew I was an alchemist, before. But now, I can actually recall it, the theories, the circles and the elements. And the more I remember all of that, the more I feel like I'm _missing_ something."

There was a long pause. People around them were getting ready to get off at Central Station.

"It feels important."

Roy considered telling him right then. It was Alphonse, Al, your little brother. The one you've forgotten about for three years of your life, the one who was dead now and could never come back.

But he couldn't do it. He had no idea what it would do to Ed's newly restoring mental state, and that alone pushed him off of it. He wouldn't risk the progress they'd made. He didn't want Edward to suffer with that knowledge.

An announcement came over the train, telling them that they would be at the destination in less than five minutes. Roy began packing up their stuff, along with Riza, and let Edward stand there. He was lost again in thought, and rocked slightly with the velocity of the train. They should've been sitting, but he doubted Ed cared about that. He and Riza busied themselves for the next few minutes without him.

The train finally pulled in to the grand station of Central City.

They pulled all of their things together, Roy grabbing Edward's arm and dragging him along behind them. He got the hint soon enough and moved to match Roy's pace. The three of them walked out into the open hall of the station, and were immediately pushed forward in the surge.

They were forced to the street. And all around, the capital of Amestris that greeted them was in utter chaos.

**-philos**


	17. Chapter 17

They were greeted immediately by military guards, rushing around and trying to control the hordes of people rushing around at the train station. Notably, most of the crowding was coming in rather than going out. Unfortunately they were part of the larger group in the jumble, and they were pushed forward and out onto the streets. They had to go with the flow of the crowd because it had not so much as a crack to see through, let alone a viable alternate route. If an attack were made now, everyone in this mess would be finished.

But there was no such attack at that time, and Roy's little group managed to get out alive.

Roy looked around; they had been pushed nearly to the Command building when the crowd finally thinned and dispersed into several many streams.

It was actually not such a bad drop off point. He'd wanted to go here at some point, maybe after going home and getting organized a bit, but now was just as good. He didn't want to deal with any more of the mob, honestly.

And Hakuro needed to explain this.

Riza hijacked his train of thought.

"So we're going in now, then." It wasn't a question. She already knew his plan, and they walked together without hesitation toward the building. Well, Roy and Riza walked purposefully. Edward, lagged behind, being dragged along as Roy held onto his wrist.

He would actually act on it this time, because he was sick of seeing the boy this way. He turned his head, not slowing at all in pace.

"Fullmetal." That got his attention, even though Roy almost cringed as the name left his mouth. "What is your problem here? We have to go, unless you want to be trampled to death in that horde."

Edward hesitated for a moment, looking up with a weary expression. His thoughts were clearly miles away, but he slowly narrowed his eyes as he searched Roy's face.

"Was that a jab at my height? _Because if it was, then you're going to be sorry, you bastard colonel_,"

"Now it's not the time for that. We have things to do, and I'd appreciate it if you'd hurry up."

Ed grumbled a little, but he picked up the pace.

"And you should know by now that that isn't the correct title anymore, I _am_ technically a general now."

"Whatever, bastard. You haven't proved yourself as anything more than a colonel to me."

"Why should I have to prove myself to you? I've already earned the rank."

"I don't know, you're the one who had a problem with my calling you a colonel."

Roy huffed but remained silent. He was getting pissed off more by the surrounding crowd than the argument with the young alchemist. Though thinner now, the people were still impeding progress. They seemed to be forming isolated mobs now, and all of them were angry. Clearly the governing system had done something wrong again.

When they finally reached the building a couple minutes later, Roy was surprised He shouldn't have been, considering the conditions, but he was. There were lower ranking military officers and city police forming riot control barriers around the perimeter, and they were not lacking in purpose.

Mobs of people were pressed up against the obstructions, yelling and cursing at the military. Yes, they had definitely messed up again. Majorly.

His little group of three fought through the mass of angry citizens and straight to one of the officers. Roy showed some identification and they were all let through. Either things weren't yet bad enough to restrict entrance to military officers alone, or the guy had simply recognized Roy and figured it was best to let him have his way.

Whatever the case, they were in. Quickly, they ascended the stairs and entered. More chaos inside.

They were immediately greeted by a stack of papers exploding out from some secretary's arms as he stumbled through the hall, but it hardly mattered because of all the other madness surrounding them. Workers scurried everywhere like bees in a hive, all with an urgent destination and a higher officer somewhere that was going to be pissed at them. Papers flew, orders shouted across halls, people crashed into each other. It was an utter mess. Roy felt ashamed for them.

But this could be sorted out later. He was all ready to maneuver through to Hakuro's office, party in tow, but Riza stepped out next to him. And fired her gun.

The shot harmlessly landed in the wall next to the first secretary's head, but it called all attention to her. There were some sounds of mingled recognition and fear throughout the crowd as they spotted her.

"Alright everyone! Get yourselves together. People who need to go to A hallway, form a cohesive line. Same goes for the main offices, complaint department, and so on. Be mindful of where you are going, please. If you don't know what you're doing, see a commanding officer. And would someone help Mr. Plumkin pick up those papers? The rest of you, get to work." She had their rapt, and fearful, attention, and broke it as she dismissed them.

It took a moment for a few of them to get their bearings, but they filed into an organized formation as per her instruction. They really flew into full gear when she cocked her pistol in a firing position again.

Roy stepped out, ready to go to the Fuhrer's office, but Riza stayed behind.

"I'm going to keep this lot in line," she said, gesturing at the crowd of workers. "They'll need it, with all the chaos going around. And the same goes for the rest of the building."

The people in the hallway were already starting to get frantic again, getting out of order. Another paper flew up into the air. Roy nodded, letting Riza be. She was more than capable of handling this. He pulled Edward up to walk beside him and powered on to the center of the building. There was no chance that Hakuro had left his office in this time of pandemonium.

The two alchemists got there without injury, and none of the halls was as frenzied as the first one.

After greeting and reassuring the guards outside, Roy leaned into the heavy door, pushing it open. It took even more force than it had before. Hakuro had had it reinforced again.

The man himself was indeed inside, facing the window behind the desk and speaking into a telephone.

"Yes…yes…I am very aware of the implications… Yes… No, of course not. Send them out to one of those midway cities, between here and the desert. Some of them need to go, you do not see the commotion here! …Of course. I assume that things are the same. …Good day to you." The Fuhrer had his jaw and fist nervously clenched, and slammed the phone on the receiver with more force than necessary.

He stared at the phone for a full minute in contemplation. Roy soon got fed up with this and cleared his throat, gaining the older man's attention. His gaze shot up to greet the two visitors, eyes widening in surprise before suspicion took over.

"What are you here for, General?" he asked with a falsely pleasant tone. It didn't merge well with the tension that was already there.

"I am here, _sir_, to find out exactly you've done with this country in the short time I've been away."

"That's right… You had a short absence while… Yes, alright. I see."

"It would better illustrate your point if you would speak in complete sentences."

"Sir."

"_Sir_," Roy corrected himself, albeit with sarcasm. There was nothing to be lost while his opponent was like this.

"The Drachmans have made their move. We're sending in the troops."

"I don't see how any of that is news."

"No, they've made an official attack, and completely massacred one of the cities on the outer edge. Less than three dozen survivors. We're sending in the big guns to end this quickly."

"'Big guns', you don't mean..."

"State Alchemists. We're ending a war before it causes any more harm to this country. Don't go against me on this, General. Don't forget who's on this side of the desk."

"_Hakuro_,"

"Sir."

"_Sir_," Roy sighed. "How many have you sent out?"

"Ten. We need a few back here in the home territory, but the most offensive ones are out there. Unfortunately, quite a few newbies fall in that ring."

"Of the ones that have been recruited in the last few years? How many?"

"Less than half. Four, I believe. But they are strong."

Hakuro took a deep breath, head limp. It was the most stressed Roy had ever seen him, but it was also the most empathetic. Concern for those soldiers was written in the lines on his face. But when he turned back to his company, he had steeled himself.

"And one of the most opposing forces we have is you, Flame Alchemist. I'm sending you out there."

Roy was taken aback. Again, he should've seen it coming. But this meant that he would see war again. He felt waves of nausea and, on a deeper level, coursing fear. He hid the spluttering mess on the inside with an intense glare and a twitch of the lips.

"And Colonel Hawkeye? What of her position? I am assuming that you want to utilize her capabilities."

"She is on the list of soldiers being deployed. I believe that she is in your encampment."

Deep inside, Roy felt a part of him relax at that. He would have Riza with him if he had to face this again.

"We have a family, sir. With both of us in action,"

"Exactly why I was against your union in the first place. But, as it stands, I believe Mrs. Hughes is quite capable of taking care of young Isaac."

"What about Edward?"

The blonde teenager looked up at him curiously at this, slight betrayal on his features. He'd been following the conversation with narrowed eyes until that moment, alert and gripping onto every word, analyzing the situation. It was good that he was no longer encased in his own thoughts, but Roy wondered what he made of this after being so long away from the brutality of the military.

"The Fullmetal Alchemist falls under the category of 'out of practice'. He will receive proper training, and, when it is ruled that he is ready for field work again, he will be deployed into battle if it is still being waged at that point in time."

"No!" Roy couldn't hold it back. It was an instinct. However, his outburst came at the same time that Edward called out.

"If you're going to talk about me, address me. Don't talk about me like I'm not even here. And I'll take your stupid training. You don't scare me, even with that title. It means nothing."

Hakuro looked aggravated, but didn't say anything. He just stared at Edward, expression changing from angry to tired acceptance. In amongst it there was some confusion. Apparently he hadn't considered that Edward could do or say such things.

Edward looked closer at the man as well.

"I think I remember you now. You're face looked really familiar, but it was hard to tell because you're so old now. I saved you from some group of thugs on a train one time, a while ago. You had a family, as I recall. …Yeah. I'll do your training. You'll see that I'm just as able now as I was then."

"I could hope so. Seeing as you were eleven at the time."

"I was twelve you son of a-" Roy covered the teen's mouth, but Edward shoved the hand aside.

"I was not short then and I am not now! I was a perfectly _normal_ size for my age! Normal!"

Roy dragged the boy from the room while they were still without penalty. It was bad enough that Edward had somehow agreed to who knows what kind of horrors, but now they were sure to get the short end of any stick that Hakuro was in charge of dealing.

To say Roy was angry would be a drastic understatement. How could Edward so readily agree to this? War was not one of his little missions, it was not a game against his commanding officers. It was real, and scary, and deadly, and horrible. And Edward would be in the middle of it if it didn't end soon.

He grabbed the front of Edward's shirt in fury, pulling him up a bit off his feet and bringing their faces close together.

"Why would you do that, Edward? Why? Because you wanted to prove some idiotic point? This is not a fun little jamboree. This isn't something you can toy around with."

Edward stared back at him, glare equally as intense.

"I know that, of course I know that. But I have to do this, Mustang. There isn't another way out of this, and the less we fight it the better here."

"We could've changed it. We could've made him find another route."

"No we couldn't. The fact is, you don't think I can do this. I _can_, Mustang. I know I can. But because _you_ don't think that I can handle it, because I'm some fragile little thing incapable of fighting my own battles, _you_ want me out of it. I can do this. _Just trust me, damn it_."

Edward was really getting worked up, and they were both red in the face. He didn't know what he was doing. He couldn't.

"This is war, Edward. War. People don't come out of it whole, hell, most of them don't come out at all. That can't be you."

"Why can't it? Why is my life worth any more than anyone else's?"

"Because they can handle it! You can't, Edward, you just…" Roy released his grip. He sighed, and closed his eyes, surely averting them from the pure fury in Edward's face.

But when he opened them again, Edward didn't seem angry at all. He was just hurt, and tired, and quite frankly looked sick of himself. Like he had when he was yelling at them from the couch. And Roy thought that maybe it wasn't just the meds, like they had put it off as originally. Maybe it was that they had actually crushed this spirit, that the incapacitation was too much for a proud spirit like Edward's to handle.

All because of Alphonse. This was all for Alphonse. He couldn't forget that piece.

But Edward met his gaze.

"I can do this. You're wrong. And even if you aren't, I'll change that too. I'll do whatever it takes, but I will do this. Trust me. …Please."

And Roy did. In that moment, he did. Against all of his better judgment, he did. But he would probably pay for it later.

And even if they both could handle it, war was still war. It was brutal, and unforgiving, and dangerous. He knew this. So he put a hand on Edward's shoulder, because they both needed to know that the other was there right now. Because this was going to be hell.

* * *

They gathered Riza and left, with the Command building in a much better condition than how they'd left it.

They received briefing papers on the situation. Roy and Riza one way, to war, Edward another, to boot camp. But first they would go home. Roy needed a cup of coffee.

**-philos**

**See you guys next chapter, which is, I am sad to say, going to be a week late. Sorry. But hey, things are happening in the plot. So there we go. **

**I'd like to thank you all for sticking with it this far, I'm amazed at how many people read everything. And to the reviewers, you guys are great. I love you all.**


	18. Chapter 18

Edward plopped down on his bed, groaning fantastically. He just stared at the plain ceiling for a minute to clear his head. It was all a lot to take in.

For one, there was no way that he could do any of the things that he said he could in that office. He didn't even think he could leave the house, knowing what lay ahead for him outside the safety of its walls.

He didn't know why he'd said those things. To prove a point? To who? Mustang and Hakuro were always there, challenging him and looking down on him. But he really felt that this time it had been for himself. To reassure himself that he was strong and capable as he ever was, when really he was weak and pathetic and hiding behind the strong words.

Either that or he had been stuck on the adrenaline rush from the train and wanted to cause conflict. That one was probably more likely, wasn't it? Mustang would be furious.

The other probable at the minute was Isaac. The little kid was very upset with him. The second they walked in the door, they heard Gracia call from somewhere in the depths of the house for Isaac, and then he came charging around the corner and yelled incoherently at them. Then he started battering Edward's leg with his tiny fists as tears spattered down his face.

Apparently he hadn't appreciated being left alone, or something to that effect. They couldn't really find out what it was, and no matter who came up to him he wouldn't be comforted. Riza was dealing with him downstairs even as Edward laid on the bed.

He couldn't have stayed with Isaac. His cries were too familiar, and ignited the pain in his head, signaling the start of an attack. So he looked to Mustang, who in turn motioned for him to go upstairs.

His ankle still hurt from where he'd stumbled on the way up.

The pain was something he could deal with, though. No, the last problem was probably the worst.

The stupid memories that were surfacing. He understood the ones with Winry. He remembered her quite clearly now and the only question left with her was why he'd forgotten her to begin with.

The memories of alchemy were the ones that kept coming since the train, in a never ending stream that became more complex with each passing moment. He vaguely clapped his hands again, and transmuted an automail finger into a corkscrew. Things like that came so mind-meltingly easy now it surprised him that he could ever be unable to perform such a menial feat.

Even then theorems and circles and intricate designs came into his brain, adding shelves and shelves of disremembered knowledge to the index of his mind. A whole world that he was lost from for a while suddenly surrounded him again, and it was like embracing an old friend.

Then there were the other memories. His own childhood and time in the military, adventures and experiences. They were all hazy and felt like pieces were always missing. Certain stories cut off at weird places, things blurred out altogether. And then there was that one memory, the one that kept coming back.

The one where it was raining, and the sounds of breaking metal and screaming filled every fiber of the situation, and hot tears came down his own face. It never made any more sense. He flashed back to it over and over, but it never made any more sense.

He had a feeling that it was the moment that changed everything. It had to be. If only he could remember the rest of it. It felt important.

And then there was the feeling of loss. Ever since he started regaining his memories, that empty hole was there. And it seemed too grow with every recovered recollection. But when he tried to piece together what it was that he lost, he hit a wall. Like a mental barrier that he couldn't break through, hiding secrets that he had already known at some point before.

But there were more imminent complications. They left for their respective posts in only a few short hours, and he had nowhere near the amount of courage he would need in order to leave willingly. And he knew that if he showed resistance, it would be seen as a sign of disloyalty or worse.

No, when the time came, he would have to walk out of the door by himself. Mustang wouldn't be there to help him for much longer.

He tried to think about war. It seemed miles away from him, in another century or another world. It had been brewing around in the background for a long time now, but now that things were actually coming of the border squabbles and hijacked trains, it felt as unreal as it ever had been. Sure, he listened in on Mustang's conversations over the phone with people at the office or picked up an important envelope once in a while, but because of his stupid loud mouth, he would be thrust into the middle of it.

He glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. In exactly one hour and sixteen minutes, they had to leave. Isaac would not be happy.

**-philos**

**It's been fun. Bye.**


	19. Chapter 19

A military car was there to pick them up when the time came. Edward knew as soon as he heard the engine rev into the drive that its purpose was to take him away, and even when Riza called for him he made his way down as slow as possible. This endeavor was not something he looked forward to.

But eventually he had no choice but to join the adults at the foot of the stairs. Each step that he descended felt like a step toward his own condemning.

"Are we ready to go?" Riza sent around the room in a vague monotone that was meant to be supportive. It only came out as affirming the situation. There would be no turning back now. The horn blasted from the car out front as the driver lost patience for their obvious delay.

"Why do you have to go again?" Isaac whimpered haltingly, with a quivering lip and crumpled brow. Edward wondered how much they'd explained to him in his absence. Not much, he'd bet. They would always try to keep him separate from the matters of the military, despite it being the hub of their livelihood. Isaac could not experience the things that they had experienced.

"We won't be gone for forever, bud, and you can play with Elysia and Gracia until we can come back. Okay?" Mustang crouched beside his son and spoke to him reassuringly.

"Now stop that crying. You have to be the man of the house now while we're gone, alright? You have to be there for the women, keep things together around here. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, daddy." The boy's voice held firm in his response, and he rubbed a tiny fist to disperse the wetness around his eyes. They were still red and wide with trepidation, but Mustang's clichéd reassurance had struck home. Isaac would be fine.

Meanwhile, the car guy outside was getting more agitated by the minute, and the blaring of the horn was finally too much to ignore. They had to go now.

Edward lifted his small knapsack, carrying nothing but his medication and another set of clothes. He knew that the military would supply him with an issued uniform, but he liked having a backup. The clothes were old, but miraculously still fit (actually being a tad too large on his still thin frame, but whatever), and consisted of worn black leather pants, a black undershirt, and a black jacket with white trim that was cut a little short around the midriff. It felt as familiar as alchemy, this outfit he'd found at the back of his closet, hidden under a huge dusty traveling case. He'd shoved them into the knapsack along with a plethora of hair ties and closed it up. It was all he really needed.

With those few things, he was ready to go on this undertaking. In theory. Hopefully his mind would hold as strong as the strap of his bag. Even after taking a few pills, he could hardly look at the door. It was easier in Resembool.

Riza and Roy got to the door before him, and Riza was already halfway to the car. Mustang waited for him at the exit, which was looking more and more like the gate to some hellish underworld. The world beyond it was more uncertain than it had ever been.

But Mustang stood there, waiting to pass through it together. Alright Mustang. They would venture out into the dark and dangerous unknown, with the promise of pain and loss as the only insinuation for the future. They would go.

So he did. He walked up to the door and met Mustang there, who received him with an almost imperceptible nod. And then they strolled out toward that shadowy future.

The air outside met his skin with crisp decision, cool and dry. Night was falling quickly, as summer was reaching its close. There were some leaves already falling from the trees and drifting into little piles of dead colors. In the dark they looked like cornflakes.

Edward's attention strayed from the scenery and instead found aim on the military car. It was as black as the night, stylish for the era. No doubt one of the military's newer models. He saw an article that griped about Hakuro's use of the treasury to fund military upgrades such as this. At the moment Edward couldn't really complain, though, because the night was cold and this car would have a heating system.

The petulant driver had finally laid off the horn, even though its klaxon-like drawl still rang in Edward's ears. The man had a stout build and a large mustache, and looked somewhere between annoyed and miserable. Looked like he'd had a crappy time of it that night.

Ed found the cool, unattached observations kept him separate from reality, just a little. He needed to be distracted now. Even as he saw and accounted for everything in the scenery, a voice ran constantly in the background. _Don't panic don't panic don't panic we're just outside it's cool it's cool… _

But even so he found that it was getting harder and harder to breathe, that the ground was tilting ever so slightly beneath his feet. The night air felt colder and colder by the second. It was all he could do not to make a mad dash for the car. No, it was better to master these feelings now.

But the car was too far away. He sprinted the last few meters and vaulted into the cabin. The knapsack bounced off of the opposite door after he threw it in, landing perfectly on his seated lap. Within half a minute they were all in the car and belted in, Edward on one window seat and Riza on the other, leaving Roy to sit between them on the humped seat in the middle.

Edward could feel the tension coming off of his superior in coils, and could only be thankful that they had someone else to drive. He remembered the car ride in Resembool and nearly threw up just recollecting the event. It was not a good idea to let a worked-up Mustang drive a car with other living beings.

And, true to his predictions, the car had heating. So there were two things that he had to be grateful for.

No one spoke on the half-hour drive. The only sounds were those of the heating system and engine, both of which were a lot louder than originally perceived, and the sounds of the outside. Yelling of women, one man who played a flute, machines of various capabilities. City sounds. And the driver had a bit of a cold, with increasingly annoying sniffs heard periodically from the general area of his mustache. The tension kept building.

Finally they stopped, about fifty meters from a large, grey stone building. It was low and flat, with slit windows and massive metal doors. The whole thing was surrounded by a story-high fence of metal wire, broken only by an incredibly sized steel gate. The driver stopped in front of the thing and spoke to a guard wearing the Amestris military uniform. The gate opened and they were through. This was Edward's destination. The camp.

Another guard came around and opened Edward's door. Before he could do anything, the man had grabbed Edward's collar and thrust him roughly from the vehicle. He had barely enough time to grab his pack and hear Mustang shout something before the door was shut and the car was off again into the night.

The man who'd grabbed him held on tightly to his clothing, restricting him from any attempt at escape. Not that Edward actually could; in fact, the guy's grip was the only thing that prevented him from falling flat on his face. All his strength seemed to have dissipated with the rough movement and the sudden change. The car as already well past the gate and faded into the shadows of the night, anyway. No chance of reuniting with it, or the people inside.

And, looking up at this man, he would've taken even the driver in exchange. Because when he looked up, he looked _up_; the man was almost double his height and three times his width, with a box-like stature and posture like he had an iron rod for a spine. The guy's left hand alone was enough to nearly obscure Edward's entire shoulder, from the base of his neck to his bicep.

In build, he reminded Edward of Armstrong, or Teacher's husband- Ouch. Some memories still hurt. Especially ones from around that time.

The guard watched in stony silence as the gate creaked shut, unmoving and, as far as Edward could tell, unblinking. At least, he'd assumed that the man was a guard. But unlike the other man at the entrance, this one's military uniform was more advanced, and Edward could see a hint of silver on his cuff by the dim lighting. So, he was of a higher title. Colonel? General? Maybe just a major.

Finally, the gate was secure. The man turned one hundred eighty degrees, yanking Edward along with him. They were bound for the grey building, which loomed ahead in the night like a great monster. The place was ominously quiet, for a camp. Weren't they supposed to be doing night drills or something?

They neared the heavy metal doors that were the building's only visible entrance.

The man's grip was painfully tight, thick meaty fingers digging deep into his shoulder. And the night air blew, now frigid and dry as ever, whipping his bangs into his face. He hadn't realized it before, with the dark of night and the large doors taking up his field of view, but now that the hair interrupted he could see quite clearly that the edges of his vision were darkening. He was going to pass out soon. Then he noticed his quickened, heavy breaths that came close to matching the speed of his heart rate and the shakiness in his legs. He was not okay.

"Oi." The man's grip tightened. He winced with the pain of it and felt his knees gave out.

Edward's world went dark as he lost consciousness, once again.

* * *

He awoke to pain. Not only was his entire body suffering from sleeping on what was apparently a large brick, but there was also a sharp agony in his side. It felt like a finger poking into him, separating two ribs. Decidedly not a pleasant sensation. And a rude method of waking someone, deserving of punishment.

His arm whipped around, catching a forearm and flipping the perpetrator onto the floor. He looked down at the attacker.

Not what he expected. A teenage guy, maybe a year or so older than him, with lanky limbs and cropped red hair, and a hint of matching red growth at the base of his chin. There was a white line of a scar running through his eyebrow and down to his cheekbone. His eyes were closed in pain as he rubbed his head.

"Man, I didn't see that coming. What kind of twerp are you?"

"Mm not a twerp."

"What was that?" The teen winked one eye open to look at Edward inquisitively.

He didn't respond.

The guy rose from the floor, and Edward dismayed at his height. Not as tall as the giant from last night, but he must have been at least a full head higher than Mustang. What was with all these lofty freaks around here, anyway? Bunch of ogres. This one was leaning over Edward as he sat up from the bed.

"Whatcha' name, newbie?"

"…Edward. Now get out of my way," he grunted, pushing the goliath to the side as he stood up and stretched his aching limbs.

"Well I'm Creek. Creek Miller. You'll be glad to make my acquaintance. Whatsa' hurry, guy? You don't know the lay 'round here. I's sent to show you 'round, and then bringsa' to the Course."

Edward didn't recognize the accent; it was more than likely from some remote town in the farther reaches of Amestris. That or he was just really lazy with his speech. Creek took a hold of his arm, which he immediately yanked away. He was more interested with his analysis of the surroundings than a tour.

The room was long and flat, lined with two rows of bunks all looking as uncomfortable as his own. Everything was a monotone of grey. So this was where he was going to live.

"What's the course?" Edward directed the question at the guy behind him, but didn't bother to look back at him.

"The Course is the center ofsa' training. We'll gets 'ere later."

He grabbed Ed's elbow, this time with no intention of getting knocked away. Edward looked back at his companion's face. He had a sort of determined, slightly psychotic look in the tilt of his brow and crooked smile.

"Now, we'll get to the kitchens," and off he went, dragging Edward along with his sudden brisk pace toward double doors near the end of the room. Even though he grumbled about Creek's long legs and unmatchable walking speed, he couldn't argue with the promise of food. He was starving.

So he'd go along with it for now, but this guy wouldn't be dragging him around for long. It was high time he took back his pride.

**-ellis**

**So, I tried. **

**If you want any of this final stuff, read on. You can skip it if you want. I'd probably skip it if it was someone else's story.**

**So as far as the story goes, a lot of OCs are coming up. Not really much I can do to prevent that, with the current setting and all. I hope that doesn't offend anyone. There won't be any major roles, really, and most will disappear after this little arc. Just filling in parts, mostly.**

**And to the readers and reviewers, you guys are pretty awesome. I hope you stay with the story as it progresses. There've been difficulties behind the scenes here, but it will continue. You have the Ellisian promise on that one.**

**All of your reviews are greatly appreciated, every single one. **

**Until Chapter 20, then. See you there. **

**(**_**note: for all of you bothered by Author's Notes, don't worry. They will probably be deleted after the story is completed, to preserve any sense of professionalism. Then again, if you**_** are **_**bothered by Author's Notes, you probably aren't reading this because you've skipped it like I offered above and you're off doing something else already. Darn.**_**)**


	20. Chapter 20

The food, to put it blatantly, was disgusting. And Edward didn't particularly care. Between train battles, yelling at certain political figures and sulking about all of his problems, plus the unknown amount of time he had been unconscious, he hadn't eaten for at least three or four days.

Not since the sandwich they'd forced him to eat in Resembool, anyway. So this arbitrary, military meal was more than satisfactory. The only thing he'd complain about were the proportions given, but seeing as this particular thought entered his mind as he was shoveling away forkful after forkful of the mush, he didn't really mind that much.

He tried to ignore the crowd around himself in the mess hall, but it was difficult. It seemed like the thing was packed to its maximum, but that could've been the loud demeanor of the soldiers making up for space. No, there was not a doubt in his mind that the military would find some way to stuff it even more so. But they seemed to crowd around his table, not really paying attention to him, personally, but gave off a rough impression that probably meant he'd clash with them later.

It wasn't like he wanted to cause any disturbance at all, but people around him had a habit of being pricks. So he would shovel his food as he pleased while he still remained on the edge of their radar.

It wasn't like he had anything to be ashamed about, either, because the Miller guy sat right next to him, putting away maybe twice as much as he was. Edward had to admit to himself that was pretty impressive, honestly. He knew that when he ate like he was now, typically the 'mature members of society' chastised him for it. Of course, that had been a while ago, but one never forgot the feeling of a heaping forkful or a bulging stomach.

Needless to say, it wasn't long before he had finished. Creek had, probably for reasons concerning preexisting rank, had been allowed seconds, and finished that, too, before Ed had completed his tray of dingy glop, boiled carrots and some weird meat substance. It tasted mostly of salt.

Both of their trays empty, Creek suddenly stood.

"T's time to get goin'. T's a fast track we move's around here, you'd better get used to't."

Still talking some barely audible gibberish that went unheard in the noisy mess hall, he grabbed Ed's sleeve and yanked him to his feet, and didn't let go as he continued through to the corridor outside.

Compared to the mess hall, the hallway was nearly deserted. There were a few stragglers coming in and out of lunch, but that was it. The tour would apparently be free of the usual hoards and onlookers.

He saw just how wrong he was when they broke through the heavy doors to the light of day. Outside, in the large training field, there were at least fifty more soldiers practicing drills, and several smaller groups here and there in smaller training areas farther back. Adding that to the numbers he'd seen in the mess, and the probable others that remained unseen, and there was a formidable fighting force here.

As long as they could actually fight, which had yet to be decided. Surely there were still some to be weeded out, unless the country had entered an actual crisis.

In which case the military would use everyone it could, because if the numbers were superior enough, it wouldn't matter if it took four or five men to take down one of theirs, so long as the difference in numbers was proportional. It was cruel, but he knew that the generals would use the strategy if need be.

He raised himself from his momentary thoughtful stupor, glancing up at his guide. Only to find that Creek, too, was gazing off.

"Oi, aren't you supposed to be giving me a tour or something?"

Creek kept his gaze fixated on the gun drills going on before them, but his mouth pulled into a harsh smirk.

"Hold on a second, wouldja? I'm try'n ta get a glimpse of the nex' drill. See what their doin', out there? Not them guys with the guns and all, but the 'toon in the back, runnin' and all. Our 'toon has'ta do that at nightfall. So if you watch'm, you'll be ready. Those commanders, they like to throw in some curveballs."

Deciphering what this guy was saying was getting harder and harder. But he seemed to be right. The platoon running on a track across the field was currently getting bombarded with a thick series of smoke and, from the smell of it, stink bombs. And, through it, they were all lifting their legs rather funnily… tripwires. So it was_ that_ kind of course. And at night, how fantastic.

"Looks like the joy of a lifetime."

"It is," his red-haired companion said without laughter. It was nearly a groan of exhaustion.

"I can barely contain my excitement. How long is the course?"

"Y'mean this course or the Course? The one we're watchin' now's about three miles. No sweat, unless the traps're particularly ruthless. But the Course, now that's a ten miler, with walls an' ropes an' pits an' all that."

"You sound like you know it well."

"Me? Nop, I've only been 'ere… 'bout two weeks. Y'get used to it pretty quick."

"I see."

They were both mute for a few more seconds, watching as the current platoon struggled through the thick smoke of the bombs and newly added barbed wire.

Then, without warning, the giant next to him yanked viciously on his arm and swiftly tugged him around.

"Hey, I was watching! Isn't that what you wanted to do, you shithead?"

"We need'd to get going already. Besides, that drill's same one from last'eek. Shouldn't be a problem." He was in front of Ed a few paces, still latched onto his arm. His head turned back, and Edward noticed that he had greyish, brooding eyes as he looked at his face. The older boy put on a knowing, not completely authentic smirk on his lips as he opened them again.

"And I was wond'rin' when that mouth of yours would come out, Fullmetal Alchemist."

Edward could only stare. One part of his brain catalogued away the information with no hesitance, that this boy and perhaps others knew his former identity. The other half was still completely at a loss of words, stricken that he would be remembered after all these years, even when he himself didn't remember some of it.

His voice returned soon enough to continue without arousing much suspicion.

"I see my reputation precedes me," he joked a little, puffing out his chest and hamming it up.

"Well, actu'ly, I's known about you firsthand. You came through my village a few years back. That's why they sent me as your guide. "Cause I know your face and identity quickly, and most people don't anymore. They said it was for security and protection reasons. I, personally, think it was because I'm one of the few who can put up with you."

"I'll try my very best not to take offense from that, you rotten ogre." He racked his brain, trying to figure out which town Creek had seen him in. Surely he'd remember the red hair and oversize stature. He couldn't find it.

"Now we're comin' up on the side doors. These're the ones you use mostly, 'less you're in a big squad or oversize platoon."

They came around the side of the building, shrouded in shade at this time of day, and two little double doors were there, steeled and windowless like the rest of the building. They swung open at Creek's touch with mild resistance, mostly due to weight, and didn't creak at all. If nothing else, it was well maintained.

They stepped inside to a hallway exactly like the one before, but with a different door pattern along its sides. Getting lost in this place seemed extraordinarily simple. But, Creek seemed to know what he was doing and Edward could follow him until he learned it himself.

The older boy led him down the whole hallway without stopping at any of the numerous doors. Some tour. They finally stopped at a door identical to the others, with a little sign on the outside that read 'Q13'. It meant nothing to him, other than that there were enough rooms in the building to get all the way up to Q's in the alphabet.

Creek pushed on the door. It looked heavy, like the rest.

The inside was completely vacant, but the room's purpose was clear. Thick mats covered half of the wooden floor, mirrors lined a wall and punching bags, meant to be held by one person and hit by another, were stacked in the corner. It was a martial artist's dreamland, with new-looking equipment and easily matching the size of the mess hall.

"Train in here, for hand-to-hand and all that technical close combat grash and all."

"Fantastic."

While he gazed at the room he would predictably become most acquainted with, a sharp pain ripped through his abdomen. He remembered the food.

"Hey, uh, Miller," he gasped, trying to sound casual as he gripped his stomach with one hand. "Is there a bathroom near here?"

"Yeah, three-quarters down the hall to the left. Door says 'Q4'."

"Great. Thanks." He bolted out the door and barely made it to the bathroom, losing all of the lunch until he was dry heaving over a toilet seat. Damn, that was disgusting. How could someone not be able to _eat_? True, he'd skipped a meal here or there, but he didn't think that the repercussions would affect him like this.

He hoisted himself from the ground and flushed the gross resurrected food particles. He went to wash his face in the oversized sinks. The cold water felt really nice after _that_ ordeal. He looked up to see his sopping face reflected in the smudgy old mirror. It was thinner than he remembered, and his hair was way longer than he'd thought it to be, still in a braid but traveling down to his mid back. Golden eyes, blonde hair. Skin, once tan, was now pale to the point of translucence after spending day after day inside.

He realized that this was the first time he'd seen himself in nearly three years. And he didn't like what he saw. He could see weakness in that image. Fragile, or already broken. Is this what others saw in him? This pathetic boy that stood in the mirror? He couldn't even call himself a teenager or a young adult, with the way he looked. He despised it.

Out in the hallway, he heard Creek call his name. Took him long enough.

"I'm coming, I'm coming, you creep. Hold on a second." He wiped the remaining water from his face with his sleeve and strode out into the hall. Creek was right outside the door, pressed up against the wall.

And there was another guy, larger than even Creek, with a meaty hand around the redhead's neck.

**-ellis**

**So. Here's another one. Sorry for the wait. **

**The operation was a mild success, even though the chances were slim. She's in a coma now.**

**Minerva Aemilius, I adore your observations. They make **_**me**_** enjoy the story more, and that's impressive. **

**So do whatever you do with stuff you like here. **

**See you next chapter, which'll probably be sooner than the time it took for this one to come out. **


	21. Chapter 21

"Woah, hold on. What's going on here?" Edward marched up to the new guy, this one about twice his size (really, was there some requisite here for gigantism?) and put on as much bravado as one could muster after throwing up moments before. He tried as best as he could to get in front of the guy's face and gain his attention.

"Ah, the twerpy alchemist. Fullmetal? You don't look like much." The man's voice was full of grizzle and rumbly, which matched his tanned, deeply contoured face nicely. His eyes, now on Edward, were a murky brown and blank. An idiot's gaze.

"First, put down the redhead. I happen to need him. And second, did you call. Me. _Twerp?"_ he growled the last bit and clenched a fist not so covertly in the direction of the man's face.

"Fine then. Although this outland trash would've been sufficient, I'd love to work with an alchemist. Although you don't look like much of an alchemist at all."

"Oh, really? You don't think so?"

The man released his grasp on Creek's neck and turned to face Edward completely. Even though he looked nearly ready to pass out, it appeared that Edward's guide was still living. The two still standing advanced angrily toward each other with each jab that progressed. Edward fell back into his habits of balancing offense with defense, from back when he had to deal with these creeps all the time.

"What gives _you_ any right to say that?"

"Well I have seen my share of alchemists around, considering that I, personally, am one of them myself. And you, kid, don't really look the part. Too small and hollow looking, for an alchemist. But from what I've heard, you were the alchemist with the most soul out of anyone. So what changed, shrimp? What's got you all hollowed out?"

He came a step closer to Edward with every damaging syllable, until Edward could feel the stranger's breath on his forehead. His face wasn't any prettier up close, and smelled pretty much exactly as imagined.

A moment of tense silence passed between them, the only sound being Creek's uneven breaths as he recuperated from the strangling. Edward was trying to process what had been said. Instinctively, his mind picked and chose what to focus on amongst all of the things that just spewed from the giant's mouth. He ignored the last question and put his attention into what was pertinent.

Besides, getting this guy worked up seemed like fun. Of course he himself would most likely get angry as well, but at least he wouldn't be the only one. And that piece alone made it different from most of his battles when he was younger.

"An alchemist, really? Gee, they've really become desperate with this war, haven't they? I suppose next they'll start bringing in monkeys to the fight. It's so tragic."

"Shut up, shrimp."

"Shut up about the shrimp stuff, beast. I have had enough with the antagonism. What's your goal here?"

"I, Trentin West, the Ice Alchemist, am here on official business as a State Alchemist to train for the war. I was sent to meet you, but I was going to blow that off."

"Gross, Ice Alchemist, seriously? That's so cliché, and not to mention stupid. Come on, I expected at least some originality. Ice, for crying out loud. What do you do, freeze people? It's already been done, and probably better than whatever you could do."

A satisfying twitch was forming beneath the man's left eye. He backed up a little from Edward's face, allowing some respite from the smell of onions and baked beans.

"And what's the deal with you being here anyway? Aren't you a little old to be in military training with the newbies?"

"Old? I don't know what you're talking about, I'm only nineteen. The youngest in my class, actually."

"But your face."

The guy's face had deep lines and small, aged eyes, not to mention the long nose and chin. There was a scar across his cheekbone from some long-healed story. Edward pretended to consider the figure a moment longer, a sarcastically puzzled expression purposely etched on his own face. He acted then as though he'd come to an agreement with himself.

"No, you have to be at least thirty. Look at those wrinkles."

Bull's eye. Some more of what remained of the man's composure leaked from his stature.

"They are not_ wrinkles_, they are lines of _expression_. I'm _expressive_."

"Could've fooled me."

"Shut up, twerp. You won't do, after all. I guess I'll have to find someone else for this," he murmured the last words as he skulked down the hallway, leaving Edward and Creek alone again.

As he cleared the last few steps out of sight, Edward caught him looking their direction, suggesting that this was not going to be the last encounter with this man.

"What's his deal?" Edward thought out loud, not that it mattered. The mutter fell on deaf ears, as Creek was busying himself with the complicated process of standing up.

"That, guy… really is a beast… Whoo. Watch're back around 'im."

"Don't you have a tour to finish or something? Where are we going now?"

Even though Edward's question was agitated and, in truth, more of a subject changer than a question, it seemed to be greeted enthusiastically. Creek perked up immediately and a sly smile crept up on his lips. Edward was wary. Not terrified, wary. He was cool.

"It's 'bout time to go down to the Course. Get yerself ready now, 'cause we're launching into the heavy stuff right away."

Oh, fun.

The teenage redhead practically skipped down the hallway in some direction that looked like every other direction, forcing Edward to half-jog just to keep up.

While he followed mindlessly, his brain wandered. He couldn't help but think of that guy, what's his face. The old and needlessly dramatic one from a moment ago. So there were a new crop of State Alchemists, and apparently a whole lot of them, considering that Oldie had been one of a 'class'. Were the others here, too?

"…Hey, Creek. How many people do the Course at a time?"

"Well it's sort of an event, it only happens once or twice a week, and half of the entire base participates each time. Well, half'f it participates, but really it's team against team. There're four teams out'f the whole base, and two go atta time. The others watch. Take notes, if y'can."

"Which team am I in?"

"Red, I think. That's mine, too, but I keep tellin' the higher-ups that the red cashes with my hair. I'd rather be on'th blue team. Purple and Yellow're the other teams, but Blue and Red're the main ones."

"What, do they have more members than the others?"

"No, they win th'most."

"Alright. Who's going now?"

"T's Purple versus Blue, but th' rest of us hafta run to watch them. 'N we're gonna miss it if we don't hurry up 'ere."

"Alright. One more question?"

"Yus? What'st?

"Could you enunciate one freaking… You know what? Never mind. Let's just go."

"Wh'tver." Edward wondered if it was even humanly possible to skip as many vowels as this guy managed to bypass in a sentence. It was like he was just in love with consonants or something.

The pushed through the heavy doors, and were momentarily blinded by the harsh outside light immediately. As Ed's vision cleared, he saw exactly what Creek meant by an 'event'. There were at least a hundred guys piled up on the sidelines of a large track, adorned at front with a large starting line. Creek had said before that the Course was ten miles long, and from this entrance, he didn't doubt it.

Grouped up at the flanks of the track were even more people, about fifty on either side. They wore standard issue military trainee clothes, all Amestrian blue, but all of the guys on one side had weird little purple shoulder-cape things, and the other side had vibrant blue shoulder capes. The Blue team was automatically identifiable as being the stronger players. They were not necessarily all large, though some of them were, but they all looked capable. Good runners, lean builds, and any bystander could tell that they were close as a team, going over what were probably strategies in a huddle. They definitely brought up some curiosity. Edward wanted to see them perform.

The Purple team had more heavily built characters, none of whom seemed to like each other very much. Probably based on many losses, but they were bitter. Not friendly folks.

Creek bumped his shoulder.

"Watch'm." He gestured to the Blue team with an open palm. "We're goin' up 'gainst them in two days. They're tricky, that bunch."

"It wasn't like I didn't see them already. And they're obviously going to win. And speaking of which, who's on our team?"

"Of course they'll win, th'always beat old Purple. They're the more senior guys, th'ones who've been here a year'r more. Reds're the promisin' newbies. Or reinstated oldies, in your case."

"Do you know if there are other alchemists? Beside that old grunt from earlier, I mean."

"Er, well, most'f the academy's new lot'f alchemists come here, since we have an alchemist instructor an' all, so there're 'bout six of you in total."

"You have an alchemist instructor? Who?"

"T' used to be Wendender, but he's out. Got sacked or moved to the front lines, we don't know. But we're promised a new one soon."

"So you don't actually have one."

"Not 't the moment, no."

"Lying ogre shithead. I was excited for a second."

"But hey, when they do hire some'ne new, y'might know'm."

"Yeah, that's what I was hoping for."

"For now, we jus' have General Aperstein. He's good, but if 'n alchemist gets out of control, he won't be able to do much."

"That isn't why I'm here, is it?"

"Heck no. You're one of the ones we're worried about."

"Hey! I might take offense to that."

"You have a record of repeated military violations and inst'nces of disregarding orders," Creek stated in a deadpan. He tried to be mad, but ti was the clearest thing Edward had ever heard come from the teenager's mouth.

He couldn't respond anyway, because the action had finally started up on the track. Both teams were lined up in a few rows behind the starting line, and the excited babble of the crowd edged away to a silence.

"So is it like a race?" Edward whispered out of the corner of his mouth to Creek at his side.

"Sorta. You've gotta be the first to pass the end line wi' your entire team intact. Oh, an' if anyone dies, your team loses."

"How often does that happen?"

Some guy in front of them swiveled his head around and shushed their conversation before Edward could get an answer. He wasn't so sure he wanted to know what it would be.

Right then, a man's voice came across the crowd. Edward craned his neck a bit and saw that the speaker was a short but heavily muscled man carrying a large megaphone. His mustache was something of a marvel; it replicated a pudgy gray caterpillar quite spectacularly.

"Attention!" The shout was met with a general chorus of 'yessirs' from the crowd.

"Today we have in the Course teams Blue and Purple! Blue team, ho!" The Blues shouted 'ho' in response. "Purple, ho!" And the Purples did the same. Edward could already imagine himself not doing that when his time came.

"As you are aware the Course is ten miles! Today our obstacles and foes were set up by Yellow, with the leadership of General Aperstein! May the best return with victory!"

"The teams set up the obstacles?" Edward whispered to Creek again. Creek gave him a look that stated he thought Edward was an idiot and returned his attention to the Course.

"Forward!" And a horn blared, causing the crowd and competitors alike to burst out with energy.

The two teams exploded from the line, racing off at tremendous speed. They were gone into the woods before the horn had ended its noise. Edward just stood, astounded by the speed.

It took him a moment before he realized that everyone around him was running too. Well, he mostly 'realized' by way of someone toppling into him as he stood like a rock in a river. Nevertheless, he took off with the rest of them.

**-whoever**

**Chapter 22 up within the week. Promise. **

**Thanks to all of you who are reading this, sorry about the wait. **


	22. Chapter 22

The burning sensation in his lungs, the harsh breaths in through the nose and out through the mouth, the soreness in his calves, were all feelings that Edward had nearly forgotten in these last few years. Nearly, but not quite. Sure, he'd had his jaunt that early morning in Resembool, but this was an outright sprinting marathon. And a marathon with competition.

If there was one thing to get him motivated, it was competition.

The wooded scenery sailed by on one side of him, the wide track on the other. The competitors were ten or so meters ahead of the pursuing spectators, and from his vantage point in the mid-front of the crowd, he could see roughly half of the shoulder-cape sporters. There were men passing or falling behind on either side of him, but the way the crowd moved gave off the impression that no one wanted to jog along side by side with him. He'd lost Creek in the hoard a while ago, but he honestly wasn't surprised. As tall as his guide was, the men around him rivaled or even surpassed his gigantism.

So he was alone, with the breeze in his hair and exhaustion starting to catch up in his legs. It might've been difficult to keep running, but the boredom of solitude helped.

Unfortunately, these military guys had been training for at least several months and probably were in good shape before then, whereas he'd spent the last three years curled up inside sleeping most of the time. He wasn't in their league. And soon enough he felt it, as more and more soldiers were passing him and his middlish-of-the-front position became a solid tail-end-of-the-middle position.

Even more unfortunately, they hadn't yet cleared the second mile, and even then, that was only one fifth of the track. It'd only been six or seven minutes of this so far. When he'd begun this, the thought of failure was a seemingly preposterous illusion. Now, in the midst of it all, the idea became considerably more tangible. His legs started to fail. He lost ground again.

Now at the front of the last section, he began to see spots in his vision. He pumped more power into his legs, but only at a cost; he became lightheaded and somewhat nauseous again. He needed to keep up, because he would not give any of these people reason to believe that he was weak.

And precisely after that particular thought entered his mind, he tripped on something and fell almost on his face. He didn't recover gracefully, stumbling and nearly tripping again. It was weird, the thing he tripped on felt oddly soft in the wooded environment.

His suspicions were confirmed when a fist knocked into his back. Someone was messing with him. Edward swiveled as much as he could, but he didn't see anyone that looked especially guilty. He continued the jog.

A group of men, mostly in their early twenties, crept past him on either side. As they passed, they slowed down ever so slightly, and in no time they had him surrounded. He knew that they were going to do something, but there wasn't much he could do to prevent it. He grit his teeth and pressed on. His legs really hurt.

Then the blow came. It hit the right side of his head, but he couldn't tell who it had come from. No, he was busy with the whole loss of vision and momentary certainty of death that pursuing his attacker was pretty much a lost cause. When he came to his senses, they were gone.

In fact, everyone was gone. He was alone somewhere in the woods. And what was worse, somehow he'd been knocked away from the track, or the whole course had transitioned to a trek through mud and debris. So now he was both alone and lost in the woods. Just dandy.

Not to mention that he was cold. And hungry again.

**-who cares**

**So. That was short, sorry. More coming, very soon. ;)**


	23. Chapter 23

The wind was harsh and extremely obnoxious. It blew swiftly through the trees, both bringing in frigid air and blocking out any remnant of sound that might've helped him track the others.

Edward wandered blindly forward into the woods, guessing at paths that might've been soldier tracks or animal trails. It did not help that it was getting dark, and the woods seemed to be getting progressively denser the further he went.

The air was getting cold as the light of day waned, which didn't help the situation at all. His hunger pangs worsened, and the fatigue that came with this sudden trend of activity haunted his muscles. It might've been better to just try to find the way he'd come and return to the building. His pride wouldn't be so injured by returning like this, at least, not any worse than he was feeling right then.

Just as he came to this conclusion and shifted backward to survey a good direction to head in, a large gust of wind came through. Now the blustery weather had been bad enough as it was, but this particular occurrence stood out on its own. It tore through the trees and a few branches fell; Edward had to brace himself against a sturdy trunk that the wind knocked him into. The sound of it was deafening, what with the trees cracking and swaying and falling around him.

It lasted a few moments, not even a full minute, but it took a while for recovery.

Edward still held on to his tree, regaining his breath. The forest tried to reassert itself, convalescing with snapping twigs and swishing brush falling into place until it reached stasis again. The winds died down a little and Edward could hear primarily his own heavy breath and beating heart. It was annoying.

He turned his head toward the sky, trying to grab ahold. His breath puffed up into the air above him, clear against the now twilight blue. He had found his way to a break in the trees somehow in all that, a clearing only about six or seven feet wide. The wind relaxed into a gentle breeze that lifted his bangs away from his face and tousled his black jacked around. As soon as he recuperated enough from the run and the cold, he would find his way back to the base.

The twigs and things continued to snap around him. But the little sounds actually seemed to be coming from one side more so than any other…

Edward swiveled swiftly on the balls of his feet, turning ninety degrees to his right. He wasn't fast enough in his analysis of the situation though; the large figures were already within a few feet of him. And they kept getting closer.

"What's this, guys?" The largest of them spoke from the front of the group. His voice sounded like he'd smoked nearly every day of his life and followed that routine up by punching someone in the face. Paired with the sarcastic and domineering tone he'd used, it didn't make for a pleasant image. Edward tried to duck away as the man got closer, but a few of the others had already come around on that side. He was surrounded.

"What're you doing way out here, snowflake?"

Edward remained silent, pressed against the tree. They closed ranks around him from the shadows.

"Bit far from home, are we?"

He felt a tug and one of them was playing with his braid. He pulled it away sharply and took a step aggressively toward the group.

"I belong here, you thugs. And 'snowflake'? Stop messing around."

"As if we'd believe that little front, girly. You're not even close. This is a military boot camp, sweetheart."

"No, don't chastise her, Jumby. I like it when they're feisty."

Edward's mind refused to create a rebuttal for that. His mouth wouldn't work between the confusion, humiliation, and growing horror. These guys actually thought that he was a girl. Yeah, it was dark and all but, no. He was definitely and obviously a guy, right? These men must be idiots. All of them. Idiots.

Looking more carefully, they were mostly late teenagers to young adults. The only guy there who looked past the age of twenty five was the leader who had first spoken. Altogether there were seven or eight in number. Taking them out might be difficult.

Reassured by the statistics anyway, he found speech. And action. And, most prominently of these, anger.

"Who the hell are you calling a girl?! I am Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist, you nimrods! What the flying heck would make you think otherwise?! I'll rip your heads off, you punks!"

And he punched the leader right in the nose with his metal fist, knocking him to the ground and probably unconscious. He got in a few more adrenaline and rage built blows, but their numbers were too many and he was not in his best condition. They surrounded him again, this time with a few of them pinning his jerking, fighting, shaking limbs to the tree trunk.

The condescending and controlling looks on their stupid tall stupid faces made him all the more furious, though now he could do practically nothing for himself.

"We've been fucking trapped in this fucking boot camp against our will for a war we may never see for eight months. Trapped us here on a draft. No one signed up for this, and yet here we are, and not a single fucking one of us has so much as seen a woman in eight. Months," one of them said close to his face, presumably the second in command. The others around agreed with this one, trapping Edward's arms even tighter against the bark.

"You let us think what we please."

"Do you honestly think we care?"

Another touch. He was in trouble. These men weren't soldiers, they were sex-deprived prisoners. And he was useless.

Suddenly, a pair of arms on his right went limp and fell away, and soon after a shout sounded through the forest.

"Who the heck-?!" And the second in command's voice died out as well, face falling away into the darkness. Edward didn't ask questions.

With his free hand, he punched the guy holding his other arm square in the collarbone, which snapped satisfyingly in the wake of his fist.

He turned away from the tree and found the rescuer fighting more of his assailants. With… Ice. Damn it. Please don't make it be…

But sure enough, Trentin West, the wrinkly old Ice Alchemist, was currently socking one of the men in the face and seemed to be employing some sort of kickboxing technique to hold off a couple of others. Is fists were coated in a thick layer of frozen water and, at this point, blood, and every so often a spear of the stuff would fly up and pin a guy to a tree or throw him off for a few seconds.

The remaining two seemed to have lost all interest in Edward and were gravitating toward the fight, which of course Edward couldn't let happen. He was morally obligated to bring the fight to them, naturally. And with the use of his arms, these two stood not a chance.

He ducked to the ground, finding a large rock he'd tripped on earlier. True to his suspicions, the rock expanded underground into a boulder. Easy enough to bring up and transmute into a dull-tipped spear with a clap of the hands.

A flash and a blink later, the two running past him were sent sprawling to their posteriors with nasty bumps on their heads that looked like they would last a while. Both were out of commission for sure and with that much accomplished he ran to assist the Cliché Alchemist.

Oldie was taking on the same guys, but it was clearly more because they were resilient fighters than any lacking on the alchemist's part. He swung and ducked and jabbed rather talentedly, but it wasn't enough. Edward jumped in to the mess.

The two alchemists immediately and innately found their way to a back to back fighting formation, each taking on a fair number. Once in that configuration and set into combat, the last four men went down in less than a minute.

Still high on adrenaline that had nowhere to go in the silence, the two turned to each other.

"This might take some explaining," Trentin started, surveying the motionless bodies scattered around, most of them bloody or bruised severely.

"We'll be fine," Edward stated, looking around as well. "Superiors happen to love me."

* * *

"Mop duty for three weeks. No lunches for four weeks. One hundred laps around the three-mile obstacle course, starting this instant!"

"Yes, General Aperstein," they chorused in unison. Edward caught a dirty look sent from the corner of Trentin's eye. He narrowed his own pair in response. 'Well, what did you want? We beat up a bunch of guys in the forest.'

All he received after that was a huff before Oldie stormed away.

He really regretted that talk with the commanding officer. If he had swayed him just a little more, then maybe they would still have their lunches. But that man was a rock. Not to mention vaguely familiar; Edward was almost certain that he was the man who brought him into the boot camp building to begin with.

As it was, he wasn't exactly looking forward to running a hundred laps either. He could blow it off, but that probably wouldn't be appreciated here.

He wandered ahead. Only a few feet more and he realized both that Trentin was now out of sight and that he was completely lost without the man for a guide. And to think of it, where was Creek? Edward hadn't seen him since the running started in the Course.

Alone again, it seemed. Maybe he would have no choice but to blow off the running. And if he happened to get so lost that he wandered into the cafeteria, well, that wouldn't be his fault.

IEIEIEIIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEI

Roy crouched in the bunker. His unit had been under fire by the Drachmans for the last twelve hours; it seemed as though they never ran out of ammunition, and their troops were endless. Hakuro's drafting of absolutely everyone was seeming less and less ridiculous as the hours wore on and wave after wave of black-uniformed soldiers broke through and sent forth a sea of bullets and cannon fire and crude explosives at them.

The Amestrians formed a line of individual units, a bunker holding a team of the most capable soldiers established every hundred feet. In his unit there were half as many as the others, though they were placed a t front. He, Riza, a Machine Alchemist named something starting with R, and a sniper called Abrielle, who doubled as a medic, were all they needed to form one of the most effective teams on the front lines.

He knew that this battle was leagues different than Ishval. There had been some resistance from Ishval, obviously, but in the end it had been more of a one-sided massacre than anything else. Here, it was not even close.

The Drachmans brought fire to the field, they had always been a rough country, but now, facing it head on, it might've matched their own.

One of the few advantages they had, which he was extremely grateful for, was that the Drachmans didn't appear to have any utilization of alchemy on their side.

He heard a break in the onslaught outside. It was time to head out; they were timed and it took an average of ten seconds for the next round of fire to come out.

He, Riza and the R-guy (Raphael? Richard?) swarmed hastily from their little hut and led their attack. The same came from every other bunker on the Amestrian side. Even in comparison to the Drachmans, they were a formidable force.

But it was true, they needed more people out if they wanted to stand a chance at winning without losing too many good soldiers. Roy just hoped that Edward would remain 'unable' to join them until it was all over. Knowing that kid, his superiors had already added on several years of additional training just for misbehavior.

As they were now, they would survive well enough. Not all of the Drachman forces were actually present yet, and that reload time that came every few minutes was exactly what they needed. Soon, armor and defenses and more weapons would come for their side. They could wait it out until then. But knowing all of this, the war was bound to get a lot bloodier that it had been so far.

The earth was hard beneath his feet. His gloves were tight on his hands, friction warm between his fingers on both. Carefully aimed flames flew in licks and explosions at the enemy, neatly avoiding his companions. Riza was at his side, and her gun went off more times per second than anyone else on either side. There was nothing more certain than her shot; each sounding meant another dead-on hit.

They caused enough pandemonium together to lengthen the silent period from the Drachman side, earning a few more shots and a few less opponents left standing. He couldn't think now about what that meant. They were pawns, numbers. Simple data. He would do what he had to now, because he had things to protect.

Snap, fwoosh, boom. Five dead. Snap, fwoosh, boom. Ten dead.

Only a few more months or years of this, followed up by several more years or decades of therapy and alcohol, and everything would be back to normal.

**-acertainphilosophy**

** And there we have it. War, folks. War. Was that explicit content? Eh, it's fine. Rated T. We're good. If you wanted one, well, here's a warning. **

**Warning. Possible explicit content. **

**See you next chapter. **


	24. Chapter 24

As far as Edward could tell, everyone had gone completely and utterly mad, in both the sense of insanity and in some measures of anger. And for once, he wasn't actually entirely to blame.

Just before everything went to hell, he had perhaps been 'trying' to find the running track (and grabbing an 'illegal' snack on his way) and, as per usual, was caught by General Aperstein and, following not far behind, Creek, who had chosen that precise moment to show up. Thanks a lot, jerk.

The old guy turned one of the most interesting shades of red that Edward had seen on a human face at the sight of him and immediately started shouting his head off. Something about 'insubordinate behavior' and 'disgusting lack of respect'. He wasn't really listening. It seemed that the rest of the cafeteria was, though, as he was yelling loud enough for it to be heard in Xing. Fascinatingly, his face progressed through several stages of even deeper shades as his lecture went on.

Creek stood awkwardly to one side, wincing when Aperstein got especially violent in speech. He probably was regretting entering the scene right then, more for his own sake than Edward's.

Finally the rant came to a blessed end, and somehow Edward had been, in the midst of it, dragged outside and onto a running track. He wasn't quite sure how that happened but he supposed a lot happened when you were daydreaming about putting duct tape over your superior's mouth.

"Three hundred laps! Now!"

Edward fully planned on arguing in some fashion, aiming of course to get out of it but would probably get more laps anyway, but before he could say anything the giant man had stalked away and disappeared into the building. He was alone. And it was freezing. And if he was certain of anything at all, it was that he was most definitely not going to run laps.

He sat, stubbornly, on the cool tacky surface of the track with his arms crossed across his chest. This was stupid, that Apple guy was ultra-stupid, and he really wanted nothing more than to be back at the Mustangs'. Sure it was boring there most of the time, and cold most of the time, and Roy could be annoying, but it wasn't as boring or as cold as this, and Aperstein was ten times more annoying than Mustang. At least Mustang could provide some entertainment.

He huffed, and a cloud of breath rose in front of his face and floated out into the black of the night. The moon and stars were all absent, hidden by a low layer of clouds. It would rain soon.

Then, through the quiet and the dark, he heard voices. Only a couple at first, two or three men, around the corner of the building. They were at one of the side entrances, talking to someone inside. Probably the Ape-rstein. Ape. Ha. Damn it all, Mustang was so much easier to make fun of…

The voices increased, from the initial group of the visitors and the general to a panicked-sounding crowd of ten or twelve. Now this was getting more intriguing. Perhaps worrisome, probably troublesome, but interesting nonetheless.

There were hurried footsteps. People yelled and Edward could've sworn he heard some guy punch another guy. And then, sirens blared over the entire encampment. Yes, this would be all of the above in the category of 'troublesome'. Edward rose to his feet.

After endless seconds of the siren completing its progression of crescendo and less obnoxious crescendo, the speakers paused for a moment. A voice broke the silence with an authoritative tone. The exact wording was garbled at best over the crude speakers, but the message came through to everyone.

War had spread further into the country. People would start to be deployed.

From that point it was utter lunacy among the 'soldiers'. Because when you really looked at it, most of these people weren't soldiers, they were just poor bastards that'd been pulled into this and trained rudimentarily for a few weeks or months, and most of them would probably die if they were put into action. They weren't ready for this. No one was ready for this.

The commanding officers tried their best to make this chaos into something resembling military organization, herding everyone inside and sending them to their bunks to take role. Then they would decide who among them would go and who would stay.

Edward hated himself for thinking it, but he really hoped that he would be left behind.

UEUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUEU

Fuhrer Hakuro sat behind the large desk, the one that was supposed to symbolize his control over the whole of his country. It was certainly sturdy and official and intimidating, but as of right then, he felt anything but in control.

Everything was collapsing. At least six towns near the Drachman border had been completely decimated, burned to the ground. No survivors. They'd made it to two major cities and activated alchemic bombs, killing hundreds. And this was when he held the main force of their strength at bay.

The soldiers directly at the border were doing all they could with their resources, and they successfully managed to keep the majority of the Drachman offense down, but he was losing men. Too fast. They had to be replaced. Even though he still had the trainee camps to reach into, he was hesitant to do so. He knew, he knew that most of them would die. But more people, women, children, would be killed if he didn't.

On an equal level of discomfort was the new information that the Drachmans had secured for themselves several entire railroad tracks. In a last ditch effort, Hakuro had tried to send out a few people to destroy the track, but anyone he sent was killed. The Drachmans had a direct pipeline into the main city.

He would begin evacuation of Central in the morning. The citizens would disperse into their assigned towns, several locations scattered further away from the danger. They couldn't exactly trust the trains as much as they had, so all of the places were within a day or two's driving distance. Not that it would be easy to travel the suburban or country roads by car, nor efficient with the amount of people they had, but it had to do. The evacuation would take a week, to get everyone out. He just feared that it wouldn't be quick enough.

He knew, perhaps, perhaps, he was being a tad bit paranoid. He'd already overruled two advisors on this matter. It wasn't likely that Central would be breached. But his fear controlled him. He would not, would not, let his citizens die in this. Especially the higher class citizens in Central. And he also would not risk the political shaming he would receive if he saved himself and not the people. So he would do this, save the people, and get all the praise for being their savior. All in a day's work.

Really, though, Hakuro felt pulled taught. Like a string on an instrument that the Drachmans kept toying with. He was not a man to be toyed with, and he would be damned if he didn't show them that. But at this point, some part of him doubted success. Sometimes he thought of a bizarre world where Mustang, that idiot, was Fuhrer, and he won the war every time. And then laughed and threw miniskirts at everyone. It was an awful dream, causing him to wake up to his own screams multiple times. Screw that Mustang.

**-meh **

**So sorry for not updating. Between sickness and school and family issues there was too much, and on top of all that some serious writer's block. Expect something soon though, barring all trauma. See you then :)**


	25. Chapter 25

It had been two days since the sirens had gone off for the first time. They'd gone off exactly six times since then, but Edward doubted that anyone other than himself was counting. Three to manage the movement and processes of deploying soldiers, one to call for a runaway who hadn't been accounted for, and one to announce increased security around the camp's perimeter. The most recent one went off seven or so hours ago, signaling that training would start again at o five-hundred hours, and that teams would be officially reassigned on the announcement board at this time. Edward couldn't wait.

Everyone who was meant to go out to the real action was gone now, and the whole camp's population was decimated for it. They'd gone from a base of over five hundred to holding approximately eighty teenagers and a duck that Edward knew about but wasn't supposed to reveal or else 'he'd get his face inverted' by one of his roommates.

Obviously, since he was currently lying on a grey brick-like mattress in a grey brick-lined room, he hadn't been deployed.

It was… a complex concept at the moment for him. On one hand, he hadn't been chosen to fight, then die. On the metal handicapped side, he hadn't been chosen to fight, then die.

So he lay there on his brick, in the dark, staring at the ceiling, trying to avoid that complex subject and address a different complex subject. He was trying to remember again. At this point, it was like trying to revive a burn victim with a spatula, but it was still there. Those blank spots, mocking him.

He grew up in Resembool, with his mother. She died. Winry was a childhood friend, and he practically lived with her and granny Pinako after that happened. Winry's parents were dead. He had tried something… he couldn't remember, it was an alchemic experiment, and that cost him his arm and leg but also got him into the military at twelve years of age. He kicked ass. It was awesome.

Terrifying most of the time, frustrating half the time, completely dehumanizing some of the time, but altogether not entirely regrettable. He had made some amazing friends, military people and random people who he helped or who helped him along the way. Some of them died. It really sucked working under Mustang. They'd (they?) had an overarching goal that whole time, though. It had to do with his arm and leg… And something else. He couldn't remember.

Then something happened, the something that obviously ruined everything, and he ended up with the Mustangs, who were at that point still 'Mustang and Hawkeye who lived awkwardly together and claimed they weren't a couple'. He wasn't really entirely 'there' for that period of time. Most of it was spent in and out of hospitals (cringe) fixing who knows what, therapy for something or other, and sleeping. Lots of sleeping and staring and pretending to be dead. Wanting to be dead.

But he didn't care about remembering that part.

Then, of course, that was all he could think about, so that ended the recall-failure of the night.

He thought about Roy and Riza. They were already out there, with the fighting and the dying and all the mess. He knew that they weren't dead, couldn't be dead, because they were both too good at staying alive, so he thought about how they were probably already through half the Drachmans and were heading the Amestrian army single-handedly. Or four-handedly, if you counted two gloves and two hands for a gun. He thought about their reunion after the war was over, and seeing Isaac again.

More importantly, seeing Isaac see them again. The poor boy was probably desperate for his family by now, even though he had all the attention he could want from Gracia and Elysia. They were safe in Central; Hakuro was too paranoid to let anything bad happen there. Isaac would be asleep now, wearing the bear pajamas that he wore every night. Every, single night. He had six pairs of the same exact bear pajamas, and hopefully he wouldn't figure out that they weren't all the same, singular set while they were away, or else Gracia would have a huge tantrum on her hands.

Isaac and Elysia got on so well together you'd think they were siblings, and Gracia was an expert at handling the madness of the two children. Ed was assured that they were together; it meant that Isaac wouldn't feel too alone while he was in this stinking place, waiting to go to an even worse place.

Thinking of Isaac cheered him up, just a little, and made him feel a little closer to home. Er, the Mustangs' place, he edited mentally. But considering everything else, where he was now, how separate he felt from Resembool, he felt like the Mustangs' place was really …Home.

Or maybe that was just the current lack of a warm shower and brick-bed talking.

Suddenly his late night thoughts were interrupted, quite literally, by stretched out hand slowly making its way into his view. He turned to his side to face the perpetrator, annoyed.

"Eh, sorry, I jus' didn't wan' to startle you suddenly. Las' time I think you broke a rib."

"You deserved it. Miller, what are you doing over here?"

Creek also had not been deployed. A shame.

"Couldn' sleep." Edward understood that.

"Yes, but what are you doing over_ here_? You were put in the C unit of bunks, right?"

"Well," the taller teen's face flushed vaguely in the dim light. "You're kinda the only one I really know an' I had to get up an' walk som'ere 'cause that room was jus' too small."

The C unit (there were only three still in use after the deployment) was the smallest of the ones used for ordinary soldiers, about half the physical size of Edward's. The thing was that C had to hold the same amount of people as the other units. It was cramped to say the least, and Edward counted his blessings that he hadn't been put there, given his usual luck.

"Alright, what do you want to do?"

"Talk, don't talk, somethin' I don' care. I jus' can't be in that place anymore."

"How about we find you a bed. There must be an empty one in here somewhere."

As much as Edward liked Creek in a 'you didn't run me up a flagpole at the first opportunity' kind of way, he could not deal with the friendly giant or his speech patterns at this hour of the night. He had no idea what time it was, but it was too late for that.

Carefully, to avoid squeaking and waking the entire building, Edward sat up and rose from his bed, cursing each metal mattress coil with every move his sore back had to make. He regretted the whole plot the second his feet made contact with the floor, as he was halfway certain that somehow the room had turned into an ice-skating rink overnight.

Creek got up from his kneeling position and jumped to stride along next to Ed in hopes of finding a place to sleep. It was easy enough; the closest empty bunk was only a quarter of the way down the room from Edward's. He left, waving a silent farewell without looking back before Creek could even get under the covers. His feet were probably already frostbitten and the rest of him was soon to follow. Brick or nay, he would rest in warmth, at least.

And somehow, after that, it was easier to clear his head and, at some point not much later, let himself drop into sleep.

* * *

Edward was woken by a horrible, horrible noise. A megaphone, he later found out, but in that moment, it was Satan's rooster. He was sore, in all likelihood had only slept a couple short hours, and would not stand to face the freezing cold of the environment outside the blanket. He rolled over and pulled the blankets over his head in a both juvenile and ineffective attempt to ignore time and return to sleep.

Someone kicked his bedframe. Correction: someone with a death wish kicked his bedframe. He rolled out of bed groggy but ready to beat down some sorry punk… When the sorry punk turned out to be Asserstein. Edward slumped, defeated, and tramped off to breakfast. The only good thing that he had to look forward to today.

Or not. He'd gotten all the way to the cafeteria, the only place in this whole camp that he could find without getting lost twice, and was rewarded with a meager serving of cardboard, topped with frozen butter, and a patty of some long-ago deceased and processed pig filled mostly with mysterious grease and pepper. If there was anything they had a lot of, it was pepper. And the chefs were proud of this pepper, and hence used it on absolutely anything and everything that went through their kitchen.

Beside the food, he sat with Creek (who was suffering because apparently the C beds are better than the B beds) in the weirdly empty mess hall, and the conversation between them was nonexistent. At least, on Edward's part. He was sure it was very interesting for Creek, who wouldn't shut up, but Ed missed out on a lot of it because he was trying his hardest to tune it all out.

Too soon, it hit five a.m. Time to go to work.

He and Creek met up with the remainder of the populous outside, in a crowd headed by none other than General Asserstein. The man was still holding that horrible device, the megaphone, and clearly he was as fond of that thing as he was his own face, because he used it _constantly_.

"Everyone here!? Good! Now all of you run your sorry asses around the track, ten laps! Go!"

"Did I say stop, Jensen?! Run harder, failures!"

"Elric, get back in line! You have five more laps!"

"Feeling tired losers?! The day has just begun!"

If he didn't stop soon Edward was going to take it and shove it down an orifice. The only question was which one.

Finally they finished running, or 'warm up', as the tormentor called it, and moved on to actual drills. Then formations. Then complicated running, involving tires and walls. Then more drills.

It was around noon when the overcast sky finally broke and gave way to a heavy downpour. They went on, all drenched and frozen, regardless. There was so much sweat by then that it didn't matter too much anyway, and the water came welcome to most of them. Emphasis on 'most'; Edward would be drying the automail and praying it didn't rust before then as soon as they were done, and all the while would be tending to aching ports in the meantime. Rain was a stupid and misfortunate, but not unmanageable. So predictably it would not be the only problem.

The next drill: enemy grenade. Someone would toss in a defused grenade to their usual formation and they scattered until it was clear. It was probably the easiest drill of the day, the only test of effectiveness being the soldiers' ability to see a thing fly in and run away.

They ran through it a couple times, and by the third run Edward thought it might be a better usage of his time to run away into a bush and sleep there a while.

They regrouped for the fourth. Edward marched like the rest of them, Creek in front, some Fat guy behind. The bomb came in, as per usual. Not so as per usual: this one looked a little smaller than the others. And Edward, being an idiot, muttered that it was different before the mass flee. And Creek, being more of an idiot, stopped to examine this difference while everyone else ran like they were supposed to.

Edward realized that he was indeed the biggest idiot when he stayed behind to pull Creek out of the way and saw that it looked smaller because the pin was pulled out.

They were only as far away from it as Edward could jump with the weight of both of them when it went off.

The explosion was not a large one, and it was most likely just a screw up in the stocking. A live one slips in to the duds, the pin falls out when it's thrown, one stupid coincidence after the other. But it went off, loud enough to deafen anyone within close range.

One second Edward was jumping, falling away from a fire that chased after them in the rain, the next, he was in darkness, feeling only the rain and the heat, and hearing nothing but the aftershock of an explosion and tearing metal and wild, desperate screams. He was somewhere else. Somewhere he knew he should know very well.

_It was dark, and everything about the night was cold, other than what was left of the explosion. Other than the pricks that were forming in his eyes. He turned back to the fire and was immediately blinded by its harsh light, in contrast with the darkness of the alley. The stone felt cold beneath his hands. Everything was cold. He stared at the flames, burning out his retinas, stared in shock and anger and disbelief, because there was someone he'd left behind. Someone in the fire. _

No, Creek was next to him, they were safe…

_Inside the fire. Maybe safe on the other side…? No. Inside. But that would be okay, the armor couldn't be affected too badly…_

Armor?

_He glanced around, desperate. He didn't think of calling out. He wanted to get up, and tried hobbling forward, toward the fire, but he couldn't move. He could make it in the fire, clapped his hands in preparation to make a shield for when he got there, but he couldn't move. He looked at his legs. Leg. Which was very clearly broken at the femur and burned severely. He'd be lucky to see it healed in his lifetime, let alone soon enough to venture into the fire. _

No, people were trying to move him, couldn't they see his leg..?

_He wouldn't believe that he was alone. There had to be someone in the fire, but still no movement came from the flames. He thought he saw shadows within their dancing tendrils now, he'd been staring for so long. He realized that he could use his voice, and he did. Or tried to. The first attempt, his voice was too hoarse to produce a sound. He tried again. _

"_A… Al…" It wasn't loud enough. Clearly, it wasn't loud enough, or he would hear a response. _

"_A-Al! Can you- can you hear me?!" Nothing. Not loud enough. _

"_Al! Alphonse!" Nothing moved within the flames, no sound came from any direction. Not. Loud. Enough. _

"_ALPHONSE! ANSWER ME! AL!" He screamed now, ripping through his throat. No sign of response, anywhere. _

Alphonse.

_He searched the area, desperate. He became acutely aware of the feeling of his eyes moving around, and felt the warm tears that melted with the rain on his face. He kept screaming. Then he noticed it, a tiny piece of metal, gleaming in the firelight. A little, unimportant piece of scrap metal. Please, please, let that be true. He squinted to see it better in the partial darkness and the rain. And he saw the blood, his blood, in an arrangement he had drawn there so many years ago. And he knew it well enough to know that half of it was missing. _

_All he heard were the screams of someone half dead and dying, someone who had been torn apart from the inside. And he realized that they were his own. _

**-philos**


	26. Chapter 26

Roy was angry. Not that that was saying too much by his normal standards, but this was an entirely new level of frustration and malcontent that plagued him in every waking hours, and it only got worse.

It wasn't like Ishval, this war; it wasn't a massacre. The Drachmans knew what they were doing, and they weren't fooling around. No, every bad feeling from this war came from the fact that he _couldn't_ kill enough Drachmans, not that he had overbearing guilt in doing so. That sounded pretty messed up when put into words, but it was, to Roy, justified. The guilt was still present, always present, because they were still humans and he was still killing them. But this time, they just kept coming, no matter how many went down. Like a hydra, when one wave was dealt with another two took its place.

And he couldn't stop them. Couldn't protect his team, his country, his family, from these monsters that were men that seemed immortal in both their perseverance and their cruelty. They did not kill with mercy, he knew that much. These people, with death-pale skin and dark hair and black eyes, they would drag out a death when they could. Prolong misery, attack the innocent. They seemed immoral, beings of pure meanness and objective murderers.

Roy did not know the death count among the Amestrians. He did not know what horrors the other teams had faced, the other branches. But he had seen the acts of the Drachmans first hand. A man next to him had been shot sixteen times in the legs, then spiked on a pole and bled out, finally dying minutes and minutes later. Another had had her limbs removed crudely by a large man with a gun and a saw.

The girl from his own unit, Abrielle, their sniper and medic, was dragged from a wounded soldier and actually cut in half. Through the middle.

Worse than anything else, any pain that he felt for the fallen, any self-pity or sorrow, was that now he knew exactly what it felt to be on the opposite side in the massacre at Ishval. And back then, he had been the one to cause it.

He had been the monster. He still was a monster.

This whole war, it was a war of monsters and people who were less than people. So be it. He would fight the bloody fight.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI

Creek Miller sat with an uncomfortable rigidity in the office chair. It was always to large, too official for someone of his stature, and the sore back he now possessed from that awful bed last night did nothing to help.

The entire room buzzed with authority, from the large steel desk to the window overlooking the running track to the wide golden plaque that rested at the desk's center.

Most obedience-provoking, above everything else, was the man behind the desk. Creek was tall, had always been tall, even made fun of for being tall, but this man was on an entirely different level. He towered over everyone, and had width that supported the height. He had a barrel chest and hands larger than his stern face, with small, bright eyes and a thick mustache.

Creek had no doubt that General Aperstein could easily take on any one of the recruits he trained, just as he was certain that he had no desire to be under the scrutiny of those bright little eyes. The mustache began to move.

"Miller, do you have an explanation? For any of this?" The eyes narrowed suspiciously. It was all Creek could do to hope that he wouldn't start shooting lasers from them.

"No, sir. I's gained 's trust, an' he didn't tell me anything about something like this."

"Not the boy, you idiot, I was asking about the _grenade_. Do you know why _the grenade_ would _explode_?" He huffed several deep breaths, and when he received only silence on Creek's part, he continued. "We know, at least partially, why he had that reaction, just as we knew that reaction could happen. That's why we took steps to prevent that reaction."

"Sir, please, why would I know-"

"Because you were supposed to be looking after him! And look at what's happened. Now we'll have to scrap the whole operation… Damn, he was a good soldier."

"N-no, you don't have to… Edward can still…" Creek trailed off, stuck between denial and horrible realization. His eyes widened and he stammered intelligibly, sweat forming at his brow. He didn't want to see that Edward was… That he himself had failed his job so miserably.

"Your error was, as I hope you know, not much of a slip, compared to everything that could have gone wrong. But it was critical, and has terminated our efforts. You will most likely be dismissed by morning. When you get the memo, go to the gate and the driver there will take you to the train station. The train for Kilm leaves at noon."

"'Most likely'? Y'mean there's a chance I won't be dismissed?"

The general groaned. He hated to even gratify this small triviality, but it was technically an option he had to address.

"Well, under the terms of the contract, if Edward Elric were to be physically and mentally able to return to training within twenty four hours, then the plan would resume. But the chances of that happening, as I'm sure you're aware, knowing his current status…"

"He'll be fine, then! It works out better for you that way, so he has to get better! I mean, you always get your bloody way, so this'll be cake for the universe to manage!" Creek didn't realize that he was shouting, nor that he was propped up halfway onto the desk and in the general's face until he pause for acknowledgement. He reddened a little and sat back, as Aperstein held his silence.

Creek desperately searched the older man's face for some sign of hope and, finding none, stood up suddenly and held a brief salute.

"Requesting dismissal."

"…Approved. But know that your chances of staying are slim. In his condition…"

But Creek was already out the door, and headed toward the infirmary.

IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOI

Gracia stood with the worn-down stature and overly-tolerant mindset of a woman who had spent the last several weeks caring for two hyperactive children, with the added burden of moving with these children to some obscure town miles south of both their homes.

She watched as two large men carried their suitcases and boxes of blankets and utilities out of her house. Neither of them had spoken a word to her since their arrival other than asking her name and stating that they were sent by the Fuhrer.

They did prove to be quite helpful, however, seeing as both of her hands were occupied. In her left was a small pale hand with little pink painted fingernails, belonging to her own daughter. In her right was the slightly smaller chubby hand of the Mustangs' son, Isaac. She smiled to herself, thinking of Roy's reaction when he found that his son's fingernails were painted a lovely shade of sky blue. But what was she to do? The boy had insisted on having his nails done like big sister Elysia.

The men finished loading the things into the car, and she ushered the two kids inside. She sat on the right side, Elysia on the other and Isaac taking the space between them.

The engine started up and they lurched forward, starting the journey south.

The children had already become absorbed in some little game they were playing, oblivious to the gravity of the situation. They were mostly just happy to be together, though Isaac had questioned in the middle of packing why he needed a box for his bear pajamas when he only had one set. Luckily, she explained that away, and there were no more inquiries for the remainder of the process.

Elysia held one of her dolls, a rabbit-bear hybrid of some sort, and they made it dance across their laps while Isaac provided its voice in a squeaky drawl. They were having fun. Gracia held a weak smile for them, and then looked out the window.

She watched her house become smaller and smaller, then disappear around a corner. She wondered what kind of situation the country could be in, that this was required of them, and if she would ever see the house again.

**-philos **

**We'll see soon how it goes. **

**On, to chapter twenty-(whatever the next one is). I've lost track. In any case, see you then. **


	27. Chapter 27

It was cold. And dark. But it always was, wasn't it?

Except this time, he was so utterly lonely, and that stuck out among everything else. Among all the sorrows and pains and dark corners, the loneliness was different, hitting him like a hammer to the chest. It was so prominent because… Because it had never been there before.

But here he was. And Alphonse was dead. Irretrievable. Gone.

His little brother.

Al. Alphonse. Al, _Al, call back to me damn it, Al_… Twisting pain, everywhere, consuming, wrenching in his being. _Al._

It was still dark. It was still cold, and empty, and horribly, horribly wrong. Of course Al wasn't dead, he was… Not here, but, but… Edward could feel himself slipping again. It was like falling, but he couldn't feel any movement. Only the fear, the weightlessness, and the end.

_AL. COME ON, ANSWER… me_…

He was so alone, still waiting for a response in the darkness. So alone.

As if that made any difference.

It had been three years, three years since he'd thought of his brother. Three years, without remembering. What kind of brother was he? He… couldn't even think of Al. He hadn't been able to.

That wasn't what strong, older brothers are supposed to do.

And little brothers aren't supposed to die.

Three years of panic attacks, memory loss, pills, pain… Three years of instability, inability, bothering the Mustangs when they should've been happy. Their family was growing, while his could only shrink, apparently. He'd let Alphonse's death slip through, hadn't honored him, or avenged him… He was a terrible person. A terrible brother. Why, why would they share their home with him?

Memories surfaced again. More… There'd been more, after… the explosion. Figures out of the fire, large, human figures. Shadows, outlines, flashing eyes, but definitely human.

Mutters about alchemy, alchemists… _State Alchemists would pay_… _Hero of the People?_ Sounds of disdain. _Looks like the tin man is out. The boy remains_.

Edward felt one last jolt of anger, adrenaline. Who the hell were these bastards? They would be destroyed, for Al, who was probably being held hostage. He had to fight them, damn it, his leg was gone… The other one was broken too badly to move, maybe too badly to ever heal. He could t-transmute it, fix the bone the best he could. He raised his arms. Arm. The metal one was gone, mostly. Broken a little above the elbow. Use…Useless.

He noticed his vision doubling and blurring, and felt a wetness on his face. There was a stinging near his hairline, a gash of some sort spilling out blood. He felt cold.

The figures closed in, their profiles blurring into the flames of the explosion. He was panicking, but beneath it there was some strange form of acceptance. Al was gone, he might as well be gone too. He was helpless, anyway.

No he wasn't, Al was alive and he would beat these guys up and find him.

He felt with the other hand (two of those fingers were broken) on the uneven stone ground about himself. As the figures closed in, he found a rock. Hope. Quickly, he scratched a circle… He had to fix his leg… The bone was exposed, he'd use that… It mended. Crudely, it mended.

He kicked out, tripping the first of the men that reached him, and drew another circle, this time on his arm, forming a spear, and held it to the downed man's throat. The others hesitated at this, he could feel that change in the air. Good.

The rain came down. The fire slowed, everything else was quiet. Waiting.

He looked at the man pinned down before him, the eyes widened with fear and single shining droplet of blood that escaped from beneath the metal and was quickly washed away by the rain. The man wore a dog tag; not a real military one, it was some stupid gang thing. It reflected in the firelight and what little illumination came through the clouds from the moon. In it, Edward saw himself.

His hair was plastered to his face, with rain and blood and sweat. Even with the rain washing it away, the blood came continuously from his forehead. His eyes stood out in all the blood, echoing the glow from the fire. His own gaze, reflected, scared him. They were deranged, fearful… desperate. A caged animal.

The man squirmed and more red droplets came from the tip of the spear. Edward pulled it away, before he killed the man. He was an idiot.

The man immediately lunged at him, and the rest of them ensued. He felt hands, cold, eager hands wrap around his throat, and suddenly he felt a resistance on his right side… The spear had entered beneath the man's ribcage. He was dying, and the grip loosened.

It was a short respite. His hands were replaced by another set, and soon Edward was lost to darkness.

Darkness, weightlessness, was all he felt. Empty. The man came back, why did you kill me, like some animal. Al was there, why didn't you save me, I hate you, Brother.

Then he was a child and Winry was crying because her parents were dead now. Then his own mother was dying. He was looking at Al, and looking at his mother's tombstone. _We can bring her back, Al_. Then arms were reaching out, taking his leg and Al was gone… His mother wasn't there, what was there wasn't human… He could save Al, all he could do was save Al. Al as a suit of armor, stuck in a senseless body and forced from his childhood. Because of Edward.

Al, you never got your body back. I'm sorry.

He felt the familiar sting of tears, felt them spill over into his soul. He knew that he was alone.

And the foreign pain, the desperate longing, the ache in his heart, were gone. The unknown had been mastered, leaving only the sadness and the loneliness in their place.

It was enough for him.

He was weightless and cold and alone, replaying all these new memories. Over and over. But nothing he could do now would change the past. Useless as before. That didn't mean that life had no meaning, did it?

There were the Mustangs. Roy and Riza, Isaac. He would go back to Winry, and try to make her see him again, as she had before he'd left. And Teacher, if she didn't behead him on sight after so long. There were people he could go back to. But Alphonse held him back. He had to remember Al, had to stay with him now because for three years he hadn't. He had to. He owed it to Al, didn't he?

But he had to be a brother for Isaac, and he had to move on for Mustang. He'd been a freeloader for such a long time at their house, so he owed them too. And Mustang seemed to want him to get better and move on… Well, it'd certainly be better for the stupid bastard if he went out and got a job or something.

He'd said… Keep moving. This was just really, really hard to move on from. He was stuck, between this realm of memories and the outside. Surely there would only be more pain out there.

Keep moving, huh? Al, is this what you would want? Probably. Al always wanted to put him first, even though Al deserved priority a hundred times more than Edward. All he ever did was mess things up for Al, as much as he tried to protect him. He couldn't even do that in the end.

Al… He would go on. This time, though, he would keep Alphonse in his mind and never let go, remembering him like he deserved. This is okay, right, Al?

He thought, I'm ready now, to move on, and waited to physically do so.

Nothing. No burst of light, waking up surrounded by family members, nothing. Only darkness. The guy he killed was still huddled in the corner, but that was it. It was still cold and empty as ever.

Oh, crap, was he actually stuck? Then another thought hit him, Could he actually be dead? Caught forever in some twisted relapse of memories as his synapses died out?

If this was some sort of life after death, then it was a really crappy purgatory. Unless this was hell. Was this hell? He expected flames, or a little man with horns and red pajamas hoisting a pitchfork.

He struggled for some sensation and tried to open his eyes, but as far as he could tell, he might not even have eyes anymore. But then, where were these tears coming from..?

He focused on the burning wetness, the physical expression of every pain he'd realized since coming to this place, and forced all his concentration on that. He would get out of here, Al, he promised. To move on.

He found his eyes, tense muscles around them holding them shut, cool wet on the skin. Cautiously, he commanded the muscles to relax. They did. He carefully opened them, just a slit, to reveal bleary light.

It wasn't the sun, nor the distant pinprick that was claimed to follow death, but the stale light of fluorescents. He was in another freaking hospital. Better than death, but just barely.

Slowly, his other senses woke up; the rough sheets and thin mattress, smell of disinfectant and dull whirr of a generator somewhere becoming present one at a time. He opened his eyes fully and looked around. The camp's infirmary, no doubt. White walls, tile floors, crummy bedframe that was one in a set of eight, lined up in a row. Another row on the other side, as well as a desk and medical supply cabinet.

Only two other beds were occupied, by a guy with thin lacerations all over his face and another lump covered by a sheet.

And next to him, asleep, was the red-haired nuisance himself. Persistent, wasn't he. Well, he didn't exactly wake up surrounded by friends and family, but at least he wasn't alone. Creek was there.

Ed rolled his eyes and prodded him with a finger, which was interestingly covered with bandages. He didn't know how he was injured or how badly, and he didn't really care.

Creek stirred and blinked his eyes open a few times, turning the green irises toward Ed as he came into wakefulness.

"Eh..? Hu, oh, Edward! You're awake! This's brilliant, brilli'nt! Okay, now, can'y walk? Or, no, well, I'll just go ge' the general an', okay, you jus' stay here. Er, stay awake," he stammered, jolting up from the chair in his excitement.

It was worse than ever. Note to self, don't excite the friendly giant. Ed had been awake, what, thirty seconds, and he was already considering homicide. Maybe he could go back to sleep.

"Why are-" Ed paused, grimacing as his voice broke. "Why are you going to get Asserstein?"

"Ass-? Oh, well, um, no, I's just worried abou' you, that's all it was. I'll- I'll get him later."

Something about the way that Creek averted his eyes and moved so rigidly aroused Ed's suspicions.

"No, you're not. Why are you here?"

"Please, Edward-"

"Why?"

The taller teen opened his mouth, but closed it, and lowered his eyes. He sat down heavily.

"I'm not really s'much of a soldier, Fullmetal. I could never be like you." He sighed. "I can't do anything, because I've a heart c'ndition. 'S genetic. My mum died of it. My father did something really bad against the military, though, and our whole family was going to be deported or imprisoned. I have three little sisters, Fullmetal. So, I let them take my father and offered to do service for the military to annul my father's influence on the family."

"Which was… Me?"

"Yeah. They said that if I helped you through trainin' and made sure that you were able to go into the war, then they'd let my sisters and I live in our hometown again, while supervised."

"You didn't do such a good job of that, you know."

Creek nodded, and his eyes got a little misty.

"I know. I don' know exactly what he did, but they said- they said that it would be fitting for me to help you in particular. I just remembered the time you came through our town and I looked up to you so much, even though you were shorter than me,"

Edward growled a little.

"-because you helped a lot of people in my town. But my father didn' like you. An'-an' when I think of all the things he muttered abou' you, and how somethin' real bad happened to you later, then I think- I think-"

"Creek," Edward interjected. The guy was crying in earnest now. "Whatever your dad did, I don't blame you at all. Nothing that he did reflects on you, alright? Dads suck. I know from experience, trust me."

Creek nodded, sniffling, and wiped his face.

"You might want to look at yourself," he started, holding a hand mirror. "It's… not too bad."

Edward took the mirror, thinking about how this would be the second time he would see himself in three years, and how nothing could be much worse than the first time.

Or maybe it could.

He was even paler and thinner than before, and bandages covered most of his head. His hair, where is stuck out, looked ridiculous, and the rest of it was down because that braid had finally fallen out. His lipped were dry and cracked, his eyes still red and traces of tears were present. There was a deep cut on his forehead that went through the center of his left eyebrow.

All in all, his chances of modeling were definitely nonexistent now. Other than that, he would be fine.

"It's fine. I'll be up soon, but you can go ahead and get Asserstein now."

"You really shouldn' call him that," Creek muttered, but he shot Edward a thankful glance before speed-walking out of the room. That idiot.

Now that he had some peace, he could further inspect his wounds. From the explosion, he remembered. That stupid fluke in practice.

He had mild burns covering most of his flesh arm, explaining the bandages on his fingers, and one ankle was almost definitely fractured. His back and arm had a few cuts from debris, possibly a few serious ones, but those would heal. Ironically the automail was in perfect condition, save for a couple spots of rust. He guessed the medics weren't competent enough to dry the wet metal.

He waited, finally bored, for someone to come in and annoy him. It was inevitable to happen at some point, in this place.

**-philos**

**Hoorah, Edward has returned. I hope you like whatever semblance of an 'explanation' was in there. More to come. **


	28. Chapter 28

Creek bolted, legs pumping as he navigated each well-memorized hall, having to go by sequence than by characteristics because each passing corridor appeared completely identical. He'd always been good with directions and noticing little differences. Not that that helped him much in this situation, other than bringing him closer to Aperstein. Closer to an opportunity to hang on just a little longer.

But really, ever since his dad had gone out that night, every moment had been just hanging on a little longer for the poor son, who'd been left alone in the darkened foyer, staring at the recently slammed-shut door.

He remembered every moment of that night, only because it had been so strange at the time. And, admittedly, in the time since then, his suspicions had sharpened a few details that may have in actuality been nonexistent. He couldn't help but imagine his own dad doing… awful things. He'd been wielding an axe, and yelling at him, then joining the large men outside in newfound cruel silence. Anyone would suspect malicious intent.

And he thought of what might've happened involving Edward…No, Fullmetal. He had to remember that they were only readying him as an alchemist, preparing him for war. Ed- Fullmetal would probably die anyway, even if he was okay now.

But this way Creek could stay with him a bit longer. And also keep his job and not be deported for a while longer. He rather liked not being deported. That was really the motivation for his slightly heaving breaths and burning legs. He kept running because he needed to keep himself safe, keep his family safe. That was why he kept moving forward.

Finally, he made it to General Aperstein's office. On impulse, he almost thrust the door open immediately, but conditioning reminded him that he had to maintain order even in dire situations, and he slowed himself, and knocked. Maybe the sound was louder than was entirely necessary, but he was excited.

Aperstein answered lazily with a very audible, not quite intelligible permission to enter. He did.

Upon forcing open the heavy door, he found the general standing at the window, rather than sitting at his usual spot behind the desk. It didn't look like it was for lack of work to do; there was an impressive stack of paperwork piled into a neat pile, untouched. He appeared to be brooding about something.

"Ehr, sir, I have news regarding Fullmetal's condition."

Aperstein stirred and turned his bright little eyes on Creek, who in turn immediately corrected his naturally poor posture and held his breath. The man was scary.

"He hasn't died, has he?" He turned, dismissing the thought, back to the window, and resumed his preoccupied expression. "No, you're too excited. I assume he's woken up. Well, get him back out there. I believe they are scraping together another round of the Course. It's smaller now, but it looks like your team is playing."

"S-Sir, he jus' woke up an' I don' think 'ts really right for 'im to be out yet," he muttered, aware that questioning orders would not be taken positively. He prepared for the worst from the strict man, some yelling or lecture, but was surprised. He did not turn from the window and spoke deliberately.

"You heard me. Get out."

Creek opened and closed his mouth, but he couldn't think of a real response for the general's words. He stood lamely, waiting for something more.

"I said 'get out'. You can take that as a dismissal, Miller. Leave, and get Fullmetal outside."

Creek hesitated for a second, then cautiously exited the room when his silence was met with silence.

The empty hallway seemed distinctly quiet, as he stood there alone with door closed behind him. He absorbed his orders, coming to terms with them himself before he had to talk to Edward. He was certain that the general understood what Edward's physical condition was. There was no way that he could walk, let alone resume training immediately.

It was madness. Edward would think so_. Mighty_… Fullmetal, he corrected himself for the millionth time. Fullmetal. They had no camaraderie, no amity, let alone friendship between them. Obviously, even if the small blonde hadn't hated him before, he definitely would now. Now that he knew what Creek's father had done, hate was inevitable.

Even if Fullmetal didn't intend to hate him, he would do so subconsciously. Creek had no right to use his first name, or form any emotional bond between them. And both of them would likely die at the hand of something other than nature at this rate. There was no point in connecting now.

He realized that he was most of the way to the infirmary already. He'd started walking without noticing, lost in thought. Now he had no time to prepare what he would say to the burned, cut-up, and emotionally strained teenager. He'd never really been good with words anyway, charming accent aside.

He was at the door. He walked in. Fullmetal was lying back in the bed, staring at the ceiling.

He noticed Creek, clearly, but pretended not to until Creek cleared his throat.

"How's it, er, going, in here?" he muttered awkwardly, approaching the bed. Edward met him with a deadpan stare.

"What happened with the ass?"

"So y've dropped the clever disguise of your vulgarity?"

"Well hiding it ingeniously in his name makes it less obviously, and I just think the world should be more aware of his assness."

Creek sighed.

"What, you're not going to defend him or tell me not to name-call?"

"Well now y' might be right."

Edward narrowed his golden eyes and glared at him suspiciously. Time to deliver the message.

"The general wants you to resume trainin'."

"Now?"

"Immediately."

Edward shuffled a little underneath the sheets, testing his legs. Not much movement was made before he winced and stopped.

"Alright, before we do that, what exactly is wrong with me?"

Creek stared. Edward rolled his eyes and reiterated.

"What's wrong with me physically?"

"Oh, well, you've got firs' and second degree burns on your arm and back. Mos'ly firs', though, so you'll heal. Your ankle's broken. An' you have cuts all over, two needed stitches. The cut on your head was deep, and you had a bump and maybe a concussion. You'll need at leas' two weeks for the ankle and a week for everything else, minimum."

"And Asserstein is sending me out now."

"Yeah."

"Got it."

Creek was confused by his acceptance, and completely baffled when Ed- Fullmetal shuffled to remove the covers and placed tentative feet on the floor.

"H-Hey, you can't stand yet!"

"Well, duh. He wants me to do this."

Then the younger teenager stood crudely, nearly losing balance and putting most of his weight on the automail leg. And started hopping. He looked up at Creek, annoyed.

"I'd like a shoulder or something, if you wouldn't mind. I'm kind of in pain here."

"Uh, right," Creek said as he stumbled forward to help him.

"Why are you doing this?"

But Fullmetal just rolled his eyes again and continued to hobble forward, leaving Creek mostly confused but with a tinge of odd admiration.

They got outside the doors of the infirmary, after an age of working out coordination between them and Fullmetal almost falling twice. He'd instructed Creek to grab a wooden crutch and that helped things along nicely. They stood in the hallway, welcoming of the break. It was hard work.

"Alright! I've got it now. You can let me go by myself now." He took the crutch and braced himself to move on alone. Creek wouldn't say anything out loud, but the small alchemist looked a little comical, covered in bandages and using the too-big crutch awkwardly. And, he noticed, it was the first time he'd seen him with his long hair out of its braid. It looked nice, aside from the bandages that made it stick out at impossible angles.

"No. You can barely stand."

"I said I've got it. Let me go."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I have to do drills, right? I should be able to walk by myself."

Creek let go and watched as Edward tested his legs carefully, then started down the hallway. His left foot accidentally brushed the floor and he hissed out in pain, and Creek was sure he was going to spill onto the floor sooner rather than later. But he stayed upright and continued on.

"Ey, Fullmetal, you know you're goin' the wrong way, right?"

"Of course. I was just, er, getting a little extra practice in. Yeah. I know what I'm doing."

"Right, but it'd be easier to go the shortes' route, right?"

"Well, if you want to be lazy about it, sure. Blame me for putting extra effort in."

Fullmetal swiveled around and gimped past Creek at a surprisingly swift pace. Creek nearly saw an embarrassed flush on the alchemist's face, but he passed too quickly for him to tell. It was nonsense, though, because there was no way Fullmetal didn't know something as obvious as the way outside.

**-philos **

**Sorry this took a little longer. My brother hit me with a sword and my shoulder's been out for a week, and the movement of typing didn't really agree with the injury. More to come. **


	29. Chapter 29

Edward could deal with physical pain. That trait helped him disguise the severity of his injuries and kept him mostly removed from hospitals for a good portion of his life.

The broken ankle was only the latest of injuries, but the agony it caused him every time his foot so much as brushed the smooth tile was not optimistic for the outlook of his recovery. Creek's estimation was off by about a week. It was splinted so that it wouldn't mend itself sideways or something, but there was nothing at the camp that would speed the healing.

And he knew that that was exactly what the good general wanted. He was taking advantage of Edward's injuries to teach a lesson, reminding him that out there in the real danger there would be no real medical treatments, and if injured, he would have to keep going. This was practice. Although Creek didn't seem to get that.

Edward saw the taller boy glancing at him every once and a while with discreet nervousness. He couldn't really blame him. After all, if he were to suddenly collapse or something, it would be Creek's fault.

He, however, pretended not to notice the covert looks and instead focused on what was in front of him. They were almost outside and, no matter how good he was at dealing with pain, he had no idea how he would run laps if the slightest drag on his ankle caused sheer torture.

At the moment he was ignoring the not so physical spheres of pain. The memories were finally all together. For some strange reason, it seemed like now that his memories were together, it was harder to focus on the present. He caught himself staring at nothing, vision going out of focus. The decision to ignore the problem, again, was his temporary solution.

UEUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUE

General Aperstein stood by the window of his office. He glared out at the trainees, paced a few steps, glared again, and paced, in an endless cycle as he tried to come to some sort of conclusion about what could be done.

He stopped and aimed a hateful, purposeful stare at his desk and the pile of paperwork on top of it. Under normal circumstances, his desk would be spotless, every duty fulfilled with extreme and precise diligence. But there was one sheet, bent neatly into thirds so that it could fit into the envelope in which it had been delivered to him, that sat on top of the stack and precluded any other subject from gaining his attention.

He'd read it nearly half a day ago, and the paperwork was accumulating tremendously since then. It was all useless, after this. He pulled a stocky finger through his thick mustache and sighed heavily. And paced again.

'General Aperstein,

Your position at the Third Military Camp for Trainee Soldiers of Amestris is now of the utmost essentiality. As of the ninth week of official war against the northern country of Drachma, the war is not in Amestrian favor. Soldiers from all training camps and all remaining resources are needed in order to proceed with the frontal battle, following the now standard soldier prerequisite of a full four weeks detailed in camp, which has been changed from the previous prerequisite of ten weeks. All remaining bodily able soldiers are to be declared ready and deployed as soon as possible. Should the amount of time to finalize preparations amongst your camp be considered an unnecessary duration, you will be replaced by a more effective soldier and thereby permitting you to be placed also among the frontal troops.

State Alchemists, although presumed to be already deployed, are the maximum priority at the moment, as the Drachmans have determined the current Alchemists' identities and are themselves prioritizing the deaths of those individuals. The alchemists that have been placed in your facility are as follows:

Ice Alchemist, Trentin West

Paper Alchemist, Vincent Imagaro

Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric

Mineral Alchemist, Terra Stone

Please assure that all of those listed are sent out as a main concern. The soldiers that you deploy, no matter the urgency, must meet the requirements at the mid-stage physical exam in order to be put out in open battle.

Due to a recent incident involving a grenade explosion and subsequent injury among several trainees, a military official will now be observing the training in your section.

Signed,

Fuhrer Jin Hakuro

Aperstein ran two fingers through his mustache as he finished reading the dreaded thing for the billionth time. So he would have to send out his remaining troops. That much could be easily met, but the mid-stage physical exam was the worrying part. He had to actually prepare them enough to pass it, or they would come back here and he would be fired.

And obviously they wouldn't pass it. There was a reason, after all, that they were still here and not already in battle. They were useless. It wasn't entirely their fault that they were useless; some were born that way, and others just weren't raised correctly. But they were recruited, nonetheless, so he had to deal with them.

He liked his job. That was the simple truth of it. He liked the power, the prestige, the respect, and the little fact that he didn't have to actively fight on the battlefield. Getting fired was something that he'd rather avoid at all costs, so those useless soldiers would need to find some usefulness, deep down inside, and be ready within the week. A week's time was a good duration. A week would probably save his position, if everything worked out.

UEUEUEUEUUEUEUEUUEUEUEUEUEUUEUEUEUEUEUE

Edward struggled along, right arm swinging its wooden extension to the front over and over, metal foot pounding in exchange with the crutch. The solution to his ankle problem had been almost congruent to his solution for everything else; just don't use it. He worked around the lack of a leg with ferocious involvement of the crutch, and kept up with the others decently enough.

It may have been due more to the fact that the others had already run eighteen laps before he joined in, but he was still keeping up and that was good enough.

Creek trotted alongside him, purposefully slowing himself and persisting in his habit of nervous, secretive glances. Edward ignored that, too, for a long while, but it was lasting so long that he was starting to think that it was something more than concern for his ankle. Did he look disfigured? He'd seen as much as his face and arms; the burns there were already healing or bandaged over and didn't look too bad. Then it was something else. Creek could know something that Ed didn't.

He pushed it off again. It was easy to ignore things, with his current strange detachment from reality. Or rather, the reality of the present. He was still caught in the reality of the past. And pushing those away, because they would only cause trouble right now, was harder than pushing anything else away, so everything else was easily dismissed. It was like a dream state, denying everything. All he had to do was run. Nothing else, just run. One foot in front of the crutch.

Now the others ahead of him were clearing off the track. Someone motioned that he should come off as well, so he did. He didn't mind missing a few laps.

They traveled in a group, going to what was presumably the next stage. There were several tracks of obstacles, including barbed wire, a wall, and fire traps. The others grouped themselves into the tracks, so Creek and Ed did the same, putting themselves into the fourth one. It was farthest away from the usual drill sergeant, but closest to some man Edward hadn't seen before.

He held a clipboard, a ready pen, and a serious and superior air. His overall appearance was really just snooty and unappealing in general. The mystery man had dark brown hair and glasses that flashed too much to see his eyes. Edward didn't like him. He stared disapprovingly at Ed's crutch (possibly he was also taking in the metal limbs, bandages, cuts and burns and thin frame, but that was discounted in Edward's mind), shook his head, and scribbled on his clipboard.

A whistle sounded, and they were starting. Edward took off as best he could with the crutch, and dove to the ground. First obstacle: low barbed wire and a muddy stretch to army crawl through. He held the crutch awkwardly with one bent arm, dragging it through the mud. A wire lower than the rest caught his hair, and the mud beneath him was cold and the slightest hesitation caused him to sink an inch or two into it. It wasn't exactly pleasant, but after the last wire passed overhead, he jumped up and faced the next leg.

This one had to do with those pesky fire traps, from what he could tell.

At this point, over half of the other trainees were ahead of him. The fact that any were behind him at all was pretty pathetic for them, but he guessed some people just weren't really cut out for this kind of thing. After all, almost none of the remaining people were actually here voluntarily, and he was pretty much the only one with any previous fighting experience. They were all newbies, regardless of how long they'd been in this place, and it showed.

Ed swung the crutch forward ferociously, determined to pass some of his 'peers'. Just because the rest of them sucked didn't mean he had to suck with them.

The fire traps were set up randomly, mostly concealed in the still muddy terrain. He hadn't actually seen these in action before; they were a relatively new innovation, after his time, and he hadn't seen one go off at camp yet.

That changed quickly.

There was a crinkling sound, followed by a _whoosh_ and a _boom_. The sound reminded Ed eerily of Mustang's alchemic ability, and he turned to see one of his fellow trainees get engulfed in a very brief flash of bright orange and yellow. It was designed for training, so a single one couldn't actually hurt the idiot who set it off, beside a few temporary burns if you were unlucky.

It still definitely was not something you really wanted to happen though, and for the first time Ed thought of his _wooden, highly flammable_ crutch. He took that into consideration and eyed the ground around him more carefully. He saw a cluster of little traps, peeking out of the mud, a few meters in front of him. He would swerve and avoid it –

Oh. The crutch, at that exact moment, caught in the mud. Maybe it hit a rock or something, he couldn't tell, but he tripped and fell forward. He almost caught himself, got ready to save the day with an awesome ninja move, and then his ankle hit the ground.

That was it. Blinding pain tore through his mind, rendering it useless. He fell. What's more, the crutch got unstuck and flew forward, landing on even more of the metal disks.

There was a second where time stopped. Maybe this wasn't real, maybe the traps were faulty, maybe he didn't actually fall on any of the cluster that he'd seen…

The crinkling sound was more of a loud, horrible crackle up close.

EUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUUEUEUEUUEUEUUEUEUEUE

General Aperstein glared over the soon to be soldiers in the yard outside the window. He wasn't glad, per say, but he was somewhat satisfied to see that Fullmetal's glinting metal and ridiculous hair was present among them. He seemed to be doing decently enough, given that one of his legs was out of commission and the other wasn't even a real leg.

Nervously, he shifted his glare to the ominous clipboard-toting figure on the sidelines, viewing the same scene. This was the man who would be the judge, who would either secure his job for another few days, or have him replaced immediately. He needed this to go well. Every touch of pencil to paper that that man put down decided his future.

The little alchemist leaped up from his army crawl, with a kind of spry energy that Aperstein thought impossible, considering what his condition had been not three hours ago.

The fire traps now. They were a brilliant addition to the training arsenal, developed two years ago by some loser from Eastern Command. They were small, flat metal disks that were easily hidden and produced a moderately harmless flash of fire. Unfortunately, because of their size and the elements that allowed the spark to occur, they couldn't be used in actual battle too often. Not to mention how ludicrously expensive it was to make each one.

Really, they were only very effective in large bunches; then they could produce quite a bit of a wallop. There was only one area that had any really closely bunched together ones, and that was off to the side, nearer to the inspector if he was correct. No one would be in that line, so close to authority…

Wrong. Fullmetal was in that line. Well, he was a practiced ex-military figure, he more than anyone should be able to deal with the cluster, regardless of his handicap.

Aperstein shook his head. When he ordered them to be placed there, he hadn't thought that anyone would find it. The cluster was placed close to the next obstacle, so that it would be out of the way. The wooden climbing wall.

What came next was… Sheer, repulsive chaos.

For some reason, Fullmetal fell forward just as it looked like he would turn away from the cluster. He and the crutch fell exactly where they shouldn't have.

It as one breathless second before the dreaded outcome swung into motion.

The fire traps all went off as they were designed, in a huge sudden burst of a fiery giant from the earth. The small alchemist managed, at the last second, to jump away roughly from the brunt of the eruption. The fire overtook the crutch and the entire wall, wooden structure sustaining its usually short life. Several men were caught in the blast.

But it wasn't over. Of course it wasn't over.

The wall, support beams weakened by flame, fell.

And like Fullmetal, it fell back onto the exact wrong spot. The 'wrong spot' being the entire area that held the fire traps. Which, as they were supposed to, went off on contact. All of them.

No one, including the inspector, came out without injury.

Aperstein sprinted out of the building, horrified. By the time he got out onto the yard, the fire was nearly extinguished. The inspector stood waiting for him, glasses broken, meticulous hair half burnt off from the fire. He held out his report.

At the top were notes (upon later review, most of them were negative), but written over everything in dark pencil were just two words.

You're fired.

EUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUEUE

Edward was in the infirmary. Again.

This time, however, it was crowded to the point of overflow with the thirty or so trainees who he'd accidentally debilitated.

He was, ironically, not as affected by the mess outside with the fire traps as everyone else had been. The only additions to his already existing injuries were a few more scrapes on his arms, which hurt like heck because of the burns that were already there. He needed to go to the infirmary, though, because he'd seriously worsened the break in his ankle when he fell, of all things.

That wasn't too bad. He didn't really care, honestly, now that it didn't hurt so badly. It was broken before, it's broken now, and who cares. No, his main concern right now were the other people in the infirmary.

Mostly because he was the reason most of them were in here. Everywhere he turned he got hate filled glares and death threats. To be honest, it wasn't such a new experience in comparison with his time being a State Alchemist, but these guys had a certain savagery. Perhaps it had something to do with the stress from sleeping on terrible beds for too long.

The temporary nurse who was splinting his ankle declared his work complete, albeit grouchily, and moved on to the next patient. Technically Edward was required to stay there until everyone was dealt with, but he really saw no point in remaining in that room now that he was treated.

He snuck around the crowd, looking for a crutch or something similar to lean on. There was nothing, nothing… A cane. Good enough, he supposed, to get him out of the unfriendly atmosphere as quickly as possible. He grabbed the metal, rubber tipped thing from its corner and dashed for the door. He made it out alive.

Now that he was free, he meandered down the hallway a little. Then he realized that he was, yet again, going in the wrong direction, and turned around. Damn this stupid building and its unnavigable halls.

He just walked (limped) around as casually as possible for a while, bare feet and cane clanking/thumping awkwardly, and for some reason seeing no one in any of the corridors. Well, census was down since everyone was shipped out, and what was left was mostly in the infirmary, so he guessed it made sense.

He turned a corner, and saw a figure among the monotony of the grey halls, at the far end. His interest morphed briefly to horror when he recognized the clothing, though; it was Asserstein's clothing, the ones that represented his general-ly-ness. Asserstein would not be happy to see him, Edward knew that he'd been fired because of the incident. But then he saw that this guy was not nearly as large as the ex-general. Someone new, the new general.

At first he tried to appear as strong, durable as possible, despite the cane and bandages and general state of his hair.

And then, as he got closer, something weird happened. The new general picked up his pace, almost jogging up to him. As he got closer, Edward made out more features than the clothing and black hair.

It was Mustang.

He picked up his speed too, as much as he could. What was Roy doing here?

They met almost halfway, and mutually held a silent examination of each other's state.

Roy was all together, for the most part, aside from a bandage on his head and a look in his eyes that was more haunted than he'd seen in a long time.

"What the hell have you done to yourself? I leave you on your own for two months and it appears that you've managed to break what parts of you are left, and apparently become a mummy. Are those burns?"

"In my defense, most of this isn't my fault. What did you expect? I tend to have bad luck with these things."

"Not to mention the new, ah, 'nursing home' look. Is that a new trend or," he smirked, only half maliciously, and gestured toward the cane.

"Like you can talk about age, you old fart. Bastard."

Both of them almost smiled, but not really.

"I have to cut our meeting short here, places to be. You, get to the infirmary already. Your head's bleeding."

Edward, only marginally shocked at the sudden end to their reunion, reached up and felt his head bandage. It was wet; somehow the stitches had split. He had to go back to that place. The thought was conceptualized with a groan.

Roy was already leaving, so Edward turned and went his own way, seemingly toward the infirmary. He knew he had to be strong for Mustang. This was a place that required that much of him, and Mustang knew that. But when he glanced back quickly over his shoulder, he saw Mustang's concerned glance just turning away.

He looked away. Before they had gone from the hallway though, Edward called out.

"Are you going to the general's office?"

Roy hesitated a second and then shouted back his answer, both of them still walking in his own direction.

"Perhaps."

"You're going the wrong way."

He heard Roy mutter a curse on the building's layout and keep going. Edward knew it was to preserve dignity; the new general would have to turn around eventually. But he wouldn't as long as Ed could see him.

They both turned their corners and officially went separate ways.

It was nowhere in Edward's plan to go back to the infirmary. He somehow made it to the cafeteria instead. He was famished and did not argue with this wonderful turn of luck.

He sat down at an empty table with a sandwich, fruit item and something that was supposed to be a vegetable. It was quiet. Then again, by now it was nearly midnight and no one else among the reduced population was really likely to be in the cafeteria so late.

So Mustang was the new general. And in the exchange of a bastard for an ass, he couldn't say that he was too displeased.

**-philos**

**Well here's a Valentine's Day post. I guess it's almost romantic. There's fire, and a letter, and some red here and there. Have fun with those fake alchemist names, they're all puns. Don't worry about Riza, she'll be addressed next chapter.**


	30. Chapter 30

Somehow, even with Mustang as general, not much had changed in the monotony of life. Continued were the drills, exercises, and short periods in between for eating and sleep, maybe a shower of time was permissive enough.

If anything, it was more boring without the confrontation from old Asserstein. All that was left now was the tedium of a 'normal' soldier's life. Ed rarely saw Mustang at all; sometimes at the far end of a hallway or overseeing a run, but that was all. He was definitely avoiding him on purpose, not that Ed couldn't see why.

The two of them returning to their old dynamic was just about the opposite of what anyone in Amestris needed right now, honestly.

Especially with the new requirement, sending everyone out by the week's end, and the pressure on him to get things done, being the new general, Edward could see that it was best to just play along with the rules and not get in anyone's way.

It almost scared him how easy it was to imagine himself three or four years ago, completely ignoring those considerations and making life hell for anyone who disagreed with what he wanted to do. He could so very easily be like that right now, and he wasn't sure exactly what it had been along the way that had changed his view of the world. It had always been focused on him, self-centered, not caring about anyone else… No, it wasn't that.

It was just that, before, Alphonse's needs and the quest to get their bodies back outweighed almost everyone else. He'd gone about his life only caring about the two of them, and his unwavering set of morals. Those morals that had made him the Alchemist of the People and, loved or hated, it seemed like everyone had some sort of opinion of him and his lifestyle.

But now it was just him. He had only himself as first priority, although he hardly ever treated himself as such. He had no one to protect, so he would protect as many people as he could because protecting was all he could do, all he knew how to do. It seemed like he was groomed to be a soldier after all. He laughed as he thought about how many higher-ups would react to that statement.

So he kept to himself, did what was asked of him, and kept the emotional breakdown at bay. The panic came back sometimes, especially in the dark of night or when he saw or did something that was just too familiar. It was a tiring routine of pushing everything down, but he managed.

Only three days had passed of the week they had before they had to go out there. From how Mustang was looking lately, it was a worse situation than he thought.

Every time he saw Mustang in the hallway or watching from afar, he had that distant look. Clearly his mind was still on that battlefield. And Riza… Edward would give anything to know what her condition was. Hopefully still breathing.

He shook those thoughts away, like everything else. Riza had to be alive. She had to be. Roy definitely wasn't distraught or withdrawn enough for her to be not alive, so she was alive somewhere.

He focused on the running. It was their favorite exercise, and he didn't really mind. He wasn't really sure that he was getting enough calories as it was to build his weight back up, but it was easy enough. Legs pumping. Breathe in, out, in, through the nose, out the mouth. All the same. No thoughts about Mustang or Riza or Alphonse or Winry _oh hell, Winry_ or Nina or anyone, anyone. He was fine he was fine he'd be fine it's okay. Run. Run. Run the thoughts away.

He saw Mustang. He was closer this time, not observing from a great distance but instead just on the side of the track. Ed tried to remember why he noticed this, and found that the black hair had caught his attention.

Then he turned and the general was out of view.

Edward realized that he couldn't call him colonel anymore, now that he actually was his general. Well, if he was _around_ more often, then he would be his general. He thought about that for a second. Okay, so maybe he was a little spiteful.

A whistle blew from the sidelines. Gasping only slightly, Edward halted his pounding steps and slowed to a stop. He turned around but, surprise, Roy was no longer there. Of course.

He'd seen that man move around the house. Oh, sure, he was graceful and exquisite around women and his team, and in public, but at home, he had the grace of a newborn giraffe. He blamed half of the stains on his clothes on Isaac, but the way he held a glass or laundry basket or rake or literally anything involving housework - it was a mess beyond comedy. Yet somehow here he was silent and fast as a ghost. Whatever mode of self control or peer pressure that was, well, Edward was envious.

No amount of envy could remove the primary annoyance of his coming and going. Mostly because it gave Mustang all the control of the situation, and that was not okay with Ed. Especially because at the moment, Edward had even less coordination than that of a newborn giraffe, with all his bumps and bruises.

Those little aggravations were evil to him while running, and he was practically doing a happy dance now that they were done. Even though walking hurt almost as much as running.

They got inside and, because of the limited population and business, everyone had a different schedule, so they all split up in separate directions. That was really unfortunate, considering that Ed had depended on following the group before to find his way around. By the time his eyes adjusted to the light indoors, everyone was gone.

And, regardless of how long he'd been living in this stupid building, all of the hallways still looked exactly freaking the same. All he wanted was to find the cafeteria before he had to go out again, but unless he got really lucky, which he never was, that was out of the question. Agony. This was agony.

His stomach grumbled loudly, reminding him about the skipped meals over the last few days. Oops. He groaned, and chose a hallway. If nothing else, maybe he could find another life form along the way who knew how to get to the mess hall. Or rather, someone he could talk to and subtly glean where it was through vague conversation so as to maintain his image. That sounded about right.

Identical walls, identical doors, a random pipe or window here and there. He had no clue how anyone was supposed to memorize all this.

He turned a corner, tripped on his still incapacitated ankle and directly into something large and moveable.

Fabric. Muscle, skin. Arms. Dear fuck, he'd fallen into a_ person_. He stumbled backward, because clearly he couldn't do anything without embarrassing himself now, and prepared to be beat up, humiliated, killed, or possibly all of the above.

Fortunately or unfortunately, he looked up to meet the familiar slanted, dark eyes of his old and current commander. Mustang-

"Ed-"

"Shut up bastard." Immediately Roy shut his mouth, but he didn't look surprised. Accepting, tired, intrigued, but never surprised. His submission, however, was irritating.

"Well don't completely shut up. Tell me what's happening," Edward leaned back into his defensive, vaguely interested posture. Old habits.

"I'm not sure if you're aware of this, with your rather lacking mental capacity, but there is a lot 'happening' right now. Could you possibly be more specific?"

"With me, the war, you, Riza, anything. I have nothing, and it's not like they post newsletters of these things around here."

"Perhaps your height has something to do with that. Maybe your brain just doesn't have enough space to function fully…" the older man mused to himself, intentionally loudly. He took Edward's following silence as an opportunity to consider the question.

"The war is… bad. Your story is complicated here. Technically I have to train you, but you are frankly in no physical condition to do much. Riza is," he paused and his jaw clenched visibly. "Still out there. She's been put farther back from the front lines; she'll be alright. And I wouldn't expect a lack of publicity to stop you from learning what you want to know."

"Well it's not as if there are too many people who are reliable enough to eavesdrop on. No one really knows what's going on except the higher ups-" he gave a pointed look. "And they really don't have much documentation for me to steal or mail to intercept. Nothing passes through."

"I'm sure you could figure out why it was better for me to, ah, keep my distance. We need to be productive here, or they will remove me and hire someone else to do this. Most likely someone who won't care about the lame alchemist with a million injuries and broken limbs and no concept of taking care of himself."

"This is not entirely my fault, alright? There were circumstances-"

"There are always circumstances. And somehow you always end up the worst for wear over anyone else, and always you are right in the middle of those circumstances. Are you blind now, too, or do you see a trend here?"

"I'm… not always the worst off." He couldn't stand the burning inspection of his mind, emanating from the cold eyes of the man. Mustang would read him like a book, like always. He didn't want that.

"Ed, what are you-"

"I remembered what happened back then. Three years ago." He was gone, back to the fire and the cold rain and warm tears. Except the heat forming behind his nose, pricking the corners of his eyes, which was all in the present. He had to stop himself, he couldn't couldn't cry in front of Mustang, not now. But his mind was leaving, going to that place. He stared vacantly at the wall next to his commander as the memories took over.

Mustang was about to say something, but he cut him off.

"There was so much pain. I shouldn't have cared about that, should I have? But the fire and the rain, and the fear… I could've taken it. I should've been able to handle it. I should've been able to get up and help-"

"You were in the hospital for nearly two months. You were in no condition to move," Mustang started.

"Let me finish, damn it! I should have helped him, been there for him! I could've stopped it all if I'd just moved forward."

Edward looked Mustang dead in the eye and held his gaze calmly, though tears were now pouring down both cheeks.

"My brother is dead. After all-" his voice cracked. "After all of what we've been through, I couldn't protect him."

Mustang stood in grim silence. Of course he would; he'd known this for years. This was no news for him. There was a hint of something like sympathy under the layers of façade in his face, but Ed didn't care. He'd known all along, he'd pretended everything was okay. He'd smiled and bantered and all the time he knew the singular fact that the world had already ended. That Alphonse was gone.

He'd known the whole time. The bastard had fucking known the whole time.

"You did everything you could. For your brother, you were stronger than any man in Amestris. It wasn't your fault, it was just life. Things happen that you can't control. You have to live with that."

"I don't want to live with that!"

"Are you saying you'd rather not live?"

Silence.

"That's not you, Fullmetal. You live. You move on, move forward."

"But I couldn't-"

"You move forward now, in the present! You can't live trying to go back, trying to move on in something that happened in the past. It's done. It's over."

"You can't say that. You don't have the right to say that to me. Mustang, you prick, you've had three years to deal with this. He was my brother and I couldn't even remember him, for all that time. How fragile am I, how unkind and self-serving am I, that I could forget him? He was my brother, Mustang.

"My little brother is dead."

And that was his limit. The teary face became a full sob. He fell, caught himself on the wall and crumpled, curled into a ball on the ground. He felt hollow, breakable, shaky. Mustang was still for a minute. He did not pat his back or hug him. He just sat down next to him, leaning up against the wall and took out a bottle of something definitely alcoholic and definitely illegal on the premises. He popped the top off and took a swig before offering the bottle to Ed. It took a while before he noticed it, and longer for him to commit to any action.

With a trembling hand, he reached out and took it.

**-philos**

**I'm so sorry about how long this took to get up – whoops. With school and depression stuff and an oddly blossoming social life with my one friend, I've just been too preoccupied, tired or uninspired to write. **

**Anyway, I really enjoy that you people of earth enjoy this. The rest of this is planned out, the next two chapters are typed and ready to be put up in a timely fashion, so I'll continue for whoever still cares to read it. I'm excited. **

**See you next chapter.**


	31. Chapter 31

The world was too bright. That was the first thing he noticed when his eyes cracked open. He shut them immediately, aware too of the pounding headache that penetrated every fiber of his skull. When he tried to look around again, he did so carefully. This was all unfamiliar to him.

As it turned out, the area around him was just as foreign. After waking up for months to the same exact patch of ceiling tiles, it was jarring to see not only that he was not in his crappy bed but he was also in a completely different room.

He was on a couch, which was more comfortable than his usual bed, in a room with painted walls and carpeting, a potted plant in the corner. As he looked around, he found a sizeable metal desk with a pile of papers atop it. A window was behind the desk, bringing in direct sunlight. Everything, despite the homey qualities, had a superficial and impersonal cleanliness about it, too pristine for anyone to actually spend much time in here.

He tried to sit up to get a better look around. Big mistake. His head all but imploded, his neck and back were stiff beyond belief and beneath all of that pain he felt the vague pulling of skin on his side, indicative of reopening wounds. Great.

His hand went to his head, but there was no relief. At all. Everything everything hurt. Everywhere. Head, back, arms, hair, eyes, and the light was unbearable.

Then sound was introduced, invoking a new misery, as the door at the far side of the room slammed open. Actually it might've just opened normally, but to him it might as well have been slammed. An irritated voice only added to the torture. It really was unnecessarily loud.

"Oi Fullmetal, are you awake yet? You can't stay in here forever." It was Mustang, so he definitely rose his voice on purpose.

"Bastard… What happened?"

"You," Roy appeared within his field of vision, over the back of the couch. He sighed and put a fist gently on Edward's forehead, in a light mock-punch.

"Are the lightest lightweight I have ever met."

"What is that supposed to mean?!" Ed almost shouted, pain and impatience forcing him to anger. This was too much hurting to be just from a little bit of liquid. He couldn't shout fully because his own voice would betray how fully devastated his nerves were.

"Knowing you, I assumed that it would be the opposite, but you were down before the bottle was even half gone. Not even Feury is that pathetic." He moved away, but came around to the other side of the couch.

"Well?" Ed sat up entirely and faced the man. Just in time for Roy to turn his back and look out the window.

"'Well' what? You drank a little, and I mean a _little_, and then passed out. I had to bring you in here because it would look slightly bad for me if it came out that I had given a teenager alcohol."

"Oh. Did I, uh,_ do_ anything before I passed out? Because I don't really remember…"

Mustang paused for a long, malicious moment, staring out the window at, Ed didn't know, probably birds or something, just to be extra evil.

"Not much."

"'Not much'?! I've never been drunk before! I have no idea what drunk me is like! Just, give me something," he implored as he leaned forward, tempted to get up and strangle the general.

"It was interesting, I'll tell you that," he murmured to himself. Well that was the last straw. No more elusiveness. He was hurting everywhere and for apparently no reason at all and he was not up to putting up with Mustang's games today. He launched off of the couch and stumbled toward the man. Somehow, he was fast enough to catch him by surprise (although he most likely just hadn't expected the invalid to attack) and grabbed his shirt collar in an attempt to be threatening.

"Fullmetal? Stop, what are you…" It seemed like the whole 'threatening' thing was almost working, looking at the expression on Mustang's face.

"What the hell happened last night? You have no right-"

"Edward stop it. You're bleeding." They both looked down at Ed's chest. The white undershirt was mostly red, and the vibrant color continued to blossom across the material at a rapid speed. He backed off, trying to stem the flow with his hands. His mind was still preoccupied.

Why was he only wearing an undershirt? He'd been wearing a t-shirt and jacket last night, as far as he could remember. Had he taken them off or…

Oh, right. Bleeding. It was practically dripping onto the floor now, and Mustang had taken off his own jacket and was pressing that against his chest, overtop of Ed's hands that were already there. Ed barely registered what was going on, but the red stuff that was now covering his shirt and Mustang's jacket and Mustang's hands and the floor all around was supposed to be inside of him, not staining the pristine carpet.

It did occur at some point that this was a new wound, and that Mustang really should've told him more about what happened last night.

It also occurred to him that his ankle was still not healed and that there was rust in his other leg and that his brother was dead and that Mustang's arms were around him as he fell, but the pain was finally gone from his head and the light wasn't so bright anymore.

Then he wasn't awake anymore.

IEIIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIIEI

Roy buckled a little under the boy's dead weight, but managed to catch him before he hit the ground.

Maybe he should've said more about 'last night'. Which was really three nights ago. Being asleep for that long, well, blood loss and alcohol could do that to a person his size, he guessed…

Maybe he should've talked about the way Ed had gotten up and smashed the empty bottle. Maybe he should have said something about the first time the blood had come from that wound later that night.

Maybe he should've discussed how time had run out, and he'd been forced to take whoever was left in that pitiful camp to the front of the war; how they were not in the camp anymore but in a private quarters set up not ten miles from the border. How every other trainee soldier in that camp was dead now or would be in the next few days.

It didn't matter now. He dragged Edward's limp form back to the couch and set him down there. The blood was no longer flowing freely; finally some clotting managed to start up. It wouldn't be fully healed for a while yet, but with all of the other injuries it was mostly inconsequential. The ankle would take even longer to be completely operational. He retrieved the first aid from the desk and removed the shirt, yet again, from Edward's red-drenched torso, so he could wrap the bandages around to cover the wound. He was lucky last time to have an undershirt on hand; everything Ed had been wearing from the waist up was now ripped up and stained too much to wear anymore.

He put alcohol on the bandage and wrapped it around the wound carefully. Thankfully Ed was already out because this would have a wicked sting considering the size of the lacerations in his side.

He tried not to think about pulling shards of glass from that same wound, or about Edward's drunken and uncaring expression as he'd done so. No matter how placated the teenager had looked then, the tears streaming down his face contradicted it. His face was calm, but he'd cried even after he passed out.

Edward seemed to remember nothing of the incident now. It was probably for the better.

**-philos**

**See, I can be regular. Regular updates. I'm calling it now, it'll be every Monday, alright? Every Monday afternoonish. Sound good? I'll also try to post some other stuff just because three stories is a pretty sad number. **


	32. Chapter 32

Edward woke up again, this time thankfully without the head-bursting pain. It did help a lot with his concentration. He was actually alert relatively quickly after waking up, so it was time to take inventory of his surroundings. Again.

He was in the same room, on the same couch. Well, duh. There was no reason for that to have changed. He realized he was having trouble making things out, and only then noticed the dark.

The room was bathed in darkness, with the only source of light being a kerosene lamp on the desk. The window was completely blackened, so he guessed it was night time, although his senses told him otherwise. To be honest, his instinctual paranoia probably meant nothing in this case. In any other situation he was usually spot on with these things, but now after years of such a messed up sleep schedule, his circadian rhythm was one-hundred percent out of whack.

If he had to go by what time he _felt_ it should be, he'd never have any clue. It was like passing through a dozen time zones and trying to figure out the time; impossible.

The darkness outside was pretty weird though. There were no moon, stars, vague shapes, nothing. It was probably that the lamp inside was too bright, but it felt off. Everything felt off.

Ed looked down at himself. In the dim light, he could make out that he was wearing a different shirt. Again. That revelation triggered the memory of the blood- another mystery. Not much of one, though. He was covered with scrapes and bruises from, well, his general bad luck and inability to _not_ get injured. It wouldn't be surprising if one broke open. Or, more likely, he'd hurt himself yet again in some stupid way while he was drunk.

Oh that was a lovely thought: Edward, the brave Fullmetal Alchemist Genius Extraordinaire, Hero of the People and _Incredible Lightweight_. He'd never been drunk before. He'd seen people drunk a lot in the past, but the legal age was well above his and that was one rule he was never interested in breaking. Now that he had, well, it was just such a stupid thing that he couldn't even handle it.

The incident wasn't as embarrassing as it could've been, he guessed. He'd seen Mustang drunk out of his wits plenty of times before, so it was fair enough that it'd been switched around. Especially since it was Mustang's fault, the idiot. Who would let an unstable teenager drink alcohol? Freaking prick.

But it had helped, given the situation. Just a little.

Underneath the foreign shirt was a thick layer of bandages, taped over gauze. There were little spots where red speckled through the white, having seeped through all that was there. It was a deep cut, to have bled out so much for such a little space. The actual cut appeared to be only a few inches long. It stung when he tried to move his midsection, but the pressure from putting his hands on it felt kind of nice.

He leaned forward a little and a loose lock of hair fell forward from behind his shoulder. It was all completely down, he noticed now, sticking to the back of his neck a little from sweat. He'd had a nightmare. He couldn't remember what it was, but the sweat always indicated a nightmare.

Ugh. He was tired of all of this. All he wanted was to not be worried for a little while; this stress was killing him. He guessed he had some time to do that now.

He leaned back and twisted all of his hair together and, lacking a hair tie, let it fall loose again. He sighed. He closed his eyes. He opened them. Well fuck it all this was boring. It was time to move.

Ed got up, throwing both legs over the side of the couch and launching up onto them. Look, he could stand. And immediately he had to sit back down again because his blood sugar sucked and all the blood immediately rushed from his head. After the dizziness passed, he tried again.

This time he actually made it a few steps. Step. Step. Doing great.

And of course because the universe hated him, the door to the room, the only entrance or exit, was locked. Okay. Time to employ those awesome lock picking skills that he definitely possessed. He ran back (glad just to be on his feet) and found a long needle and a thicker surgical pin in the medical kit. Applying them to the keyhole, it was easy enough to escape his confinement.

The question of why it was locked to begin with didn't really occur to him until after he was out. After all, a locked door wasn't the most pointless pointless obstacle he'd ever had to face. It was just a road block, something to impede him that he had to overcome.

He didn't really think about the benefits of a locked door until after he'd unlocked it.

Because outside that door was not what he expected to see. At all. He'd thought he was still in the training camp, in some officer's quarters maybe, but not out in the middle of a field. And definitely not in a field filled to the brim with corpses.

Why. Why was it always him.

They were everywhere; bodies piled up onto another, all bearing some fatal wound. He saw one girl, she couldn't have been past her early twenties, who was completely cut in half. Down the middle.

He was barely even comprehending the fact that he wasn't in the camp, almost coming to understand that there were actual human bodies everywhere around him, and somewhere in his subconscious he knew that there was a girl who was not much older than him who was cut in half.

He was in an intermediary field, where dead soldiers were put before being identified and given a burial. He gleaned that much, after the initial shock.

But this only happened when the amount of deceased was so high it couldn't be processed anymore. There weren't supposed to be this many dead people.

They were laid out in kind-of neat rows. Some were so mangled that they stood out more this way, when all of them were organized like that. Some bodies crowded together and were stacked on top of each other, in walls of gory disturbance. The field wasn't too large, and trees bordered every side for the whole perimeter, about a quarter mile.

At the center of it was the place he'd been in, a little housing unit with plain walls and one window. There was a little more to it than the one room, but he couldn't really investigate that yet.

Clearly this was some sort of intelligence base or commanding officer's station well inside the Amestrian border. You could tell from a glance it wasn't normally filled with the… deceased. This was a temporary or emergency arrangement.

Mustang hadn't meant to put him in a field filled with dead soldiers, it just sort of _happened_ that way. Edward's luck could just go suck on a fucking egg. He hated this. All of this.

There was a man with both arms torn off, now laid on top of his torso.

Ed suddenly felt a wave of nausea. This was awful, just the smell alone was awful.

Where was Mustang? The bastard couldn't have just left him alone here, right? But he was the only living person in sight, and he had no idea if Mustang was even alive at all at this point.

Was he somewhere among these rows of deceased? Was Riza? He couldn't tell. Even if they weren't here, they could still be dead in some other field. Maybe everyone in the world was dead. Maybe he was the last one alive anywhere. That would suck.

He didn't really decide at any point to start crying, but the tears came anyway. Roy and Riza and Al and Winry and Nina and everyone were all dead. Everyone he ever loved was dead. His mom and Hughes and Al and Winry and Nina and Roy and Riza and maybe even himself. He had to be dead now, right? Deadness couldn't be anything other than the amount of pain and emptiness and hopelessness that he felt, surrounded by these innumerable bodies of strangers.

He had to be dead, and this was his punishment.

But he couldn't be dead because death should bring relief, and he only felt the pain more than ever. He couldn't be dead because his side was bleeding again through the bandages.

**-philos **

**Hey remember that war thing that was happening yeah we're gonna do that now**


	33. Chapter 33

Edward was staring blankly down at one of the dead faces when Mustang arrived, charging through the field but slowing himself to a slight jog as he got closer. Whatever was going through the boy's mind was far beyond him, but clearly it wouldn't reflect positively on his overall mental status. He should not have come outside.

There was a reason for the door being locked, Edward. Way to go.

Ed didn't look up until Roy was about five steps away from him, and even when he did the glance was cold and only halfway coherent, it seemed.

"What, Mustang."

"Why must you go out of your way to traumatize yourself to the fullest possible extent? Do you do this on purpose? Do you do these things specifically to annoy me? Get back inside," Mustang muttered as he shoved Ed back toward the small building, though every word could be heard clearly in the literal dead-silence of the field.

"Is there really a point? I've already seen… This," Edward mumbled. It was clear that he was still in a daze. Roy guessed that was fairly normal. Heck, he was the atypical one for being nearly unfazed. But by now, how could he not be used to it?

As he continued to shove the unwilling teenager forward, he noticed a damp sensation through his glove, and lifted his hand to see red spattered faintly across the white. Immediately he swore, quite loudly. And then had to apologize because they were still surrounded by the dead and somehow that felt very disrespectful.

"How are you still bleeding?" he sighed and started toward the medical supplies in the pack on his hip. That was the whole reason he'd left to begin with, getting more supplies. And to check in with Riza and her squadron. The fighting had moved on from this area, though even as recent as yesterday it had been a massacre zone. They were all still alive, a fact that relieved him in ways he hadn't known since Ishval. He had to come back for Ed, though, and she had to handle her group.

They would meet again after everything was settled; sooner, if he could manage it. He trusted her to stay alive until then, and she relied on him to do the same. In a day the soldiers would be mobilized again, in order to keep up with the Drachmans as they moved along the border. They kept moving the brunt of their forces around, making it difficult to formulate a tactic against them.

With the weight of their numbers and brutality, it was hard enough just to keep them out. The Amestrians were desperate, and in no position to hold anything back for strategy's sake. It was as close to a total war as Amestris had seen in a very long time. The Drachmans had been building this up for a while.

The quantities of dead were slowly outnumbering the living. As was immensely evident by the field around them…

Roy pushed Edward inside the door, throwing a glance at the above-ground cemetery behind him before shutting the egress behind him curtly. He couldn't allow himself to get lost in thoughts anymore; he had to tend to that idiotic wound again.

Just as he was opening the medic case, Edward seemed to come to his senses.

"You effing bastard! Why- Why are we here?! What the hell is this?"

"It's honestly not my fault so much as it is yours," Mustang started, only to be immediately interrupted.

"Of course it's your fault! Why are we not at the camp, Mustang? Why are there so many of those- those things- out there? How the hell long was I actually unconscious?!" Ed burst out, balling his fists, ready to fight.

"You have to tell me things, you bastard! How am I supposed to do anything if you don't-"

The teen's rage subsided abruptly, and let the fist that was halfway to Roy's face fall to his side. He looked away, but Roy could tell that he was hiding his face purposely behind the long blonde bangs, as he had done so many times before. Ed continued talking, now considerably sobered in tone. He didn't look up.

"Why don't you tell me anything? I need to know… I need to understand. I know what happened, Mustang. I know why you've felt you needed to shelter me these years, but… You can't keep on keeping things from me. I can handle it. I need to handle it, if I'm ever going to really get on and keep moving. Otherwise, you'll just keep protecting me forever and nothing will ever change. I need change, Mustang, you know that. It has decimated my life, change, but tragedy to tragedy, I have to keep moving. So give me a chance here, please.

"Now, I want actual answers." He looked up into Mustang's eyes, meeting them with gold fire. It was still hollow, haunted, but the spark was there.

"How long was I out? And what happened since then?"

"…You were passed out for over two days, the first time. Just enough time for the entire camp to be mobilized and sent out to the battlefield. Everyone else is out there now, dead or alive, but the Drachmans have already moved on. They fought here until yesterday, but have since mostly moved out. We're going to stay here for a while longer, tending to the dead and wounded." That wasn't true. A little lie, but Ed couldn't know that everyone was going out tomorrow. He cringed internally as he realized he was still protecting the boy, but he had no choice.

"We are in a general's stratagem building turned safe house, which is one of a couple" _tens_ "of fields that hold the excess dead."

"So everyone else is out there?"

"Yes, if they're stationed here. But everyone is fighting."

"So that Ice Alchemist guy, and all the wimps left in camp, and Riza?"

"Yep, they're all still here I believe."

"Alive?"

"…I can't guarantee all of the 'wimps from camp', but I know that Riza and Trentin West are very much living."

Edward looked relieved as relieved as Roy had felt upon learning that, and some of the tension disappeared from the blonde's face.

"Wait, what about Creek?" Uh oh. There was a frantic look to him now, as if he realized some horrible possibility. Roy was confused. What kind of significance did that one specific trainee have? He supposed that he had been hanging around Edward a lot in camp… Perhaps Ed had made a friend. But he couldn't have honestly expected that Creek Miller would be exempt for that reason alone…

"The redhead with the Hills accent, right? What, is he your boyfriend or something?"

Edward's expression made it very plain that this was not the case. Mustang regretted the tease immediately.

"He's not even my friend. He's the most annoying giant that has ever graced the face of the earth. _Did he get deployed?_"

"Yes, I think I saw him going out. Why?"

"You mean Asserstein didn't say anything to you? At all?"

"Edward I have no idea where you're going with this. Creek Miller was a trainee at the camp, there was no other option for him than to go to war."

"No, you bastard, he _wasn't_ a normal trainee. He was in on a deal with the Ass General, to watch.. me. He has a heart thing and younger sisters to go back to, he was never supposed to actually fight!"

"Why was he..?"

"He was keeping an eye on me to essentially do your job for you while you were gone. Apparently I can't be left to my own devices at all anymore. But you can't just let him die out there. He doesn't even have the chance to fight, if he just collapses of a heart attack before he gets to the enemies," Ed's words seemed fueled more by frustration than sympathy. His eyes were determined and, hidden below many more layers of emotion, desperate. So the two had become friends.

"Lots of people die, Ed."

Roy had no choice. The dream had to end here. If Ed wanted to face more tragedy, well, he had succeeded. He'd given Roy the exact one task that he couldn't do in this situation. They needed every soldier.

"You saw that field, right? How many of them do you think had families? People they had to take care of, promises that can never be kept? Everyone is a calamity, Edward. You can't exempt people from that design just because you know them."

"That's not fair. That's not… He had a deal, Mustang. He was never supposed to be involved!"

"Do you not understand yet that war has casualties?! We can't be biased about those that we save, or we'll be doomed to fail. We're losing as it is. Badly. The higher-ups, Fuhrer Hakuro – none of them will spare a single individual. And frankly, I don't blame them."

Ed was silent for a moment, somewhere between seething and dismal.

"Since when did you call him Fuhrer?" he asked quietly, hollow and mocking. The bitterness in his tone was reflected across his features, shoulders tense and fists clenched again.

"The war is a serious thing. We have to have loyalty in our nation first, no matter how corrupt, inefficient and lazily run it is. It's the only possible way out for us. We have to put our all into this, every spare commodity, or we really may fall. The Drachmans are the most serious threat we've faced as a military, as a nation, in a long time."

"So that's it? We just let them use everyone up? Let Hakuro run us around like puppets - until what? Until we're all dead?"

"Well a lot of people will have died for nothing if we pull out now and let Drachma win."

"You can't guarantee that we'd lose."

"Yes, I can."

Edward was about to give another angry retort when he cringed and his hands flew to his side. It must've stung.

"That's enough excitement for you. Lie down before you do any more damage."

"Bastard…" Ed grunted as he followed the direction.

"Now strip."

"Excuse me?"

"The wound needs to be treated again, and I can't very well do that through a shirt, can I?"

Edward shot him an indignant glare before pulling the undershirt off, revealing thick layers of white that packaged the wound. The teen started unraveling them, revealing the angry red gashes underneath that had healed halfway, broken and bleeding in other places from movement. It was hard to look at. Not because of the aggressiveness of the wound, no, Roy had seen plenty of wounds before, but the cause of this one was etched in every thin line between the gauges. The trails of a broken bottle through flesh.

A bottle that Roy himself had handed over to an unstable minor.

On list of actions he wished he could somehow magically revoke, handing over that bottle was near the top. It seemed rational at the time, really. If only Ed hadn't been such a hopeless lightweight. It was the one thing he should've accounted for but hadn't. Really, given the skin-and-bones figure and the dwarfish height, he should've known.

"What's the matter, bastard?" Edward questioned. It was brash and meant to be a passing comment to fill the silence, but there was an underlying concern. There was always an underlying concern, anymore. Although he guessed that that was how Edward felt whenever anyone talked to him for the last several years.

"Nothing. You really are an idiot. Not to mention that your shortness has now begun to affect even those around you negatively."

"I WILL END YOU, BAS-"

"Shut up, Fullmetal. You'll hurt yourself again."

"Well maybe if you weren't such a bastard I wouldn't have to effing yell at you," he huffed, arms crossed. The injury was patched up for the third time without further incident.

Now they just had to make it another day, and another, until this was all over.

They were probably all going to die.

**-philos **

**Yup. Not many people are making it out of this one. If any. Oops. **

**Please note the lack of 'major character death' warnings, however. If that gives any indication. **


	34. Chapter 34

Gracia was exhausted. She loved both of the toddlers in her care, really she did, but with the 'military' stepping in and restricting them in every way they could think of, it was hard to keep up the majority of the time. It didn't help that the two kids had a seemingly endless supply of energy. She understood the initial excitement of a playdate, but they were on their second month. It was getting rather ridiculous.

They were confined to a one-room bunker in some makeshift 'town' for security during the war. It was the safest place possible, and she was assured that even their small, barren quarters was one of the finest, reserved for the families of the military officers.

The 'town' had about four dozen like bunkers, each holding a higher class family. They were grouped into sections, A through E. They were in the D rows, along with eight other little homes. It wasn't much, but Gracia met every other day or so with the other housewives to keep up moral and trade supplies.

They had so little for taking care of the children.

But they seemed happy, regardless. Isaac ran across the room, Elysia's rabbit/bear filling his tiny arms. Elysia let out a shriek of glee as she chased after him, deliberately slow on her longer legs. After giving out a mild warning to be respectful of their neighbors and stay quiet, Gracia returned to washing the dishes. There weren't many, but she had to keep washing them as the same three plates and sets of utensils were reused. It wasn't exactly riveting, but she needed to be doing something with her hands.

It was almost relaxing, with the repetitive movement and the view she got from the little window above the sink. Sure, it was nothing more than a dingy grey street and the side of another building, backed up by a strain of green in the rural setting. Even so, there was a charm to it. She found that she was able to find charm in most things, if she looked hard enough. She was a firm believer that everything had beauty, even if it couldn't be seen right away.

It was something that Maes always liked about her. Oh, Maes…

"Grashie…" a little voice cried solemnly, and there was a tugging on her skirt.

She looked down to see Isaac's sherry eyes, large and innocent. His hand was balled up in the lower fabric of her skirt, and he pulled gently again to make sure he had her attention.

"Mommy, Isaac is hungry and I am too and also Mr. Bun is hungry but he doesn't eat because he is a toy." Elysia slipped into view, dragging the doll behind her. She moved behind Isaac, who hadn't let go of Gracia's skirt.

She glanced at the hands of the clock, balanced atop the stove with impermanence.

"Oh, it is getting a little late; I suppose lunch is in order. What do you two want from Gracia's kitchen?" She smiled as Isaac's eyes got wider with the realization that he could choose his own meal. He thought for a second, lips in a pout.

"Banna." He demanded with finality. Elysia rolled her eyes.

"Isaac means 'banana'," she said all-knowingly. She turned to him and pronounced each syllable, probably dramatized to prove that she, of course, knew how to _properly_ say the word.

"It's _ba_-_na_-_na_, say it."

"Bah-nn-nn-ah."

The enduring adult snapped one from the dwindling bunch and handed it down to the child. He barely ate, so she would be thankful for this small victory and not require anything more of him.

"And you, Elysia?"

"Umm, jelly sandwich. No wait, cookies! No wait, ice cream! No-"

"Jelly sandwich it is." Gracia smiled and got out the bread and jelly. There wasn't much left in the jar, and the bread was rather low even though they wouldn't get another bag for a week.

"Sweetie, how about an open-face sandwich? You have to be really careful, though, because that's messy."

"Yes, I can do it! You can trust me!"

"Okay, darling. One lunch coming up!"

The least she could do was keep them happy and the tone light.

Even when the food was running out, and everyone was too afraid to go outside, and there were rumors that the scary Drachmans had invaded the train lines. Even if it was the only thing she could do, she would keep them happy.

IUIUIUIUIUIUIUIUIUIUIUIUIUIUIU

It was late at night. Edward had grown accustomed to the way the night looked from the singular window in the room after staring at it for hours, and he was in the middle of deciding whether it was worth it to try to sleep or if he should just wait for dawn.

It was probably easier to sleep, but that was too hopeful. And the sleep would only bring more of those vivid memories. He was really deciding whether he could face those memories, and if he deserved to see them regardless of whether he was able to handle it. He felt like he had to suffer at least that much.

He was too restless, in the end, because it turned out that when you sleep for several days in a row, it's kind of hard to be tired.

The night, he also discovered, was incredibly boring. And it was hard to keep himself from scratching at the bandages at his side. Or the healing burns, or the automail ports that would never feel not-foreign. It was familiar, but still unnatural.

He'd traced his gaze over every singular silhouetted object in the room, memorized the swirled pattern on the ceiling and the sequence of stripes on the wallpaper, and planned every comeback he could use on Mustang for every possible scenario for at least a month. He was contemplating the chirping of crickets outside, probably disturbed from the recent changes in their habitat, when the monotony was finally broken.

Between the long inured chirruping, he heard footsteps and, seconds later, snippets of conversation. People were approaching outside. Immediately he was on guard, and he listened more carefully. There were two, no, three. One larger in stature and two of average size. The voices indicated two men and a woman, adult but not old. Soldiers, not grave robbers, by the pace of their walk.

As they came closer to the building the conversation became intelligible.

"…I wasn't accusing you of anything, Dalton. I'm just saying, if it were me, I wouldn't have swiped the commander's bottle so friggin obviously." That was the female voice.

"I'm telling you, I didn't swipe it! And we're all adults here, you don't have to be so _fucking _cowed." Apparently Dalton, the larger figure.

"Oh, I'm sorry if I don't share your sentiments about that colorful vocabulary. Prick."

"Guys, I found Sarah," the third voice broke in, following with a softly breathed curse. Ed guessed that Sarah's condition was about the same as all the others in the field. Brutally dead.

There was a period of silence between the three.

"_Damn_…"

"We can't even give her a burial or anything before we move out. This sucks."

Ed waited for elaboration. Hopefully it came before they moved on, because his curiosity was piqued. They surely had time to hold at least a secret one-person burial.

"We could just stay back tomorrow, no one would even know if we caught up on time. It's only a day of travel we'd be missing…"

"You know that wouldn't work out, Niall."

More silence. Ed held his breath as they moved again, even closer to the building. They were just outside the window's view, and Ed could see the shorter guy's shoulder. They stopped there, and Ed was frozen to the couch. Somehow he didn't think it could possibly turn out well if he were spotted now.

"What's even in this place?"

"Eh, it's just an old headquarters for planning and stuff. Of course no one's actually planning anything on this side anymore, so it was abandoned. Probably just has liquor inside now or something. Maybe more bodies."

"Can we break in? I feel like crap now and I just need to do something."

"No, guys please, it's awful out here and I don't want to do anything in front of Sarah."

A pause.

"Fine, we'll go back. The commander's probably wondering where his gin is."

"So you admit it!"

"I've admitted to nothing."

The voices faded, finally, and Ed released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. That would've been a little awkward if they'd gone along with their plan. 'Oh hey, don't mind me, just an alchemist skipping out of the battle while your friends are dying.' No thanks.

His plans also needed some alterations.

The troops were moving out tomorrow, eh, Mustang? That bastard was trying to keep him sedated while everyone moved on without them. Well no more.

He wouldn't be protected any longer, and no more people like Sarah were going to die while he sat around. He would get into this war, one way or another. Now that he knew what Mustang thought he didn't know, he had the upper hand on Mustang and had a real chance at pulling it off.

His ankle had more or less healed by now, and the wound on his side wasn't bleeding anymore. He was good to go, ready for battle. Physically.

He knew that Mustang would come back at dawn though, so his only option was to leave now. He lurched slowly off of the couch and tested his footing. Simply standing felt wonderful. Applying slightly more pressure to his right ankle, he found that it held up sturdily. The automail was only a little rusted, but otherwise fine.

He grabbed his black jacket from the desk drawer. He'd seen Mustang put it in there after putting him back together the first time, and even through the delirium of the moment he'd managed to hold on to that little piece. He looked at it and frowned.

The material in his hands was torn on the sleeve and completely shredded on one side. He held it up, and his suspicions were confirmed. Yes, the shredded fabric matched up precisely with where the thick white bandages hid underneath his shirt. So the wound had been new, and definitely related to the drinking incident. Damn, he wished he could remember it. But there was a blank spot there. It was different from how it had been with Al's… death. He was still hesitant to even admit that one word.

For the last few years, he'd been mentally blocking it in self-preservation, steadfastly locked away even as he attempted so many times to remember. To the point of headache, or passing out, or flat out physical exhaustion, those memories stayed away so he wouldn't feel the infinitely worse pain of the incident.

Now, though, the memory was sealed away by a much more menial circumstance. It wasn't a hole in his mind, in his soul. It was just a fuzzy, intoxicated, faraway missing memory. Like a fever dream that disappeared after five minutes of going back to the real world.

Still, it didn't stop him from wondering. Mustang seemed really apprehensive about the topic, so something had definitely gone really wrong. Resulting, obviously, in injury. He would piece it together later.

He laid the shredded remains of the jacket flat on the desk and arranged it properly. Then, with a clap of the hands and familiar flash of blue, it was whole again. Man, he'd missed alchemy. He had forgotten how incredibly convenient it was.

On went the jacket and with another flash of blue he had unlocked the door and was off, through the field of bodies. The long grass breezed along his boots and his black pants, making them damp all the way up to the knee. Morning dew.

The sun's rays were just beginning to make their appearance on the horizon. The barest creamy violet and pink hues were splayed gently on the clouds, making their way outward as the dark blue sky shifted lighter, shade by shade.

Even if he knew Mustang wouldn't like it, and that he was unquestionably more safe himself if he just stayed put, he would reduce those death counts. That he would make sure of. After all, he was the freaking Fullmetal Alchemist, Hero of the People, Edward Elric. And it was about time he started acting like it.

**-philos**


	35. Chapter 35

The wet light of the outside that trickled through the stagnant, bloody air in silky threads was not so bright yet that it was blinding, but filtered softly across the blurry morning sky. Across the edges of the west there lingered some remaining stars, but the majority of the view was obscured by gently tinged clouds. Heavy stratus, permeated with scattered cumulus. Ed wouldn't admit it if his life depended on it, but he was a huge nerd for clouds. Among the many things that he was a nerd for, that was the one that seemed just a little too prissy to go flaunting about.

The light, no matter how tired and bleak it was made out to be from the few rays that came above the eastern horizon, still hurt his (now pronouncedly delicate) eyes. He hadn't really thought too much of it, but most of his time, when he was actually awake, had been spent at night or in the dark of indoors and artificial halls. The sun was an old acquaintance of his by now. It seemed that his eyes had forgotten that relationship. It burned.

And he did truly wish that he could see a little better, because he refused to stop his mad sprint through the field to wait for his eyes to adjust. He had to be far gone by the time Mustang came close, and the field wasn't really a good spot to hide. From the established habits he'd seen so far, Mustang came always within a few minutes of sunrise. Or at least he was almost certain that that was the case. Regardless, he had things to do that were more than disputable, and undeniably Roy would have a few objections. He couldn't have that parental arse getting in the way of his ambitions here.

But as his feet found purchase in dirt, then grass, then hand, then torso of corpse after passing corpse. Well. He was really really really trying not to think about it. The grass soaked his ankles, dew-soaked and malicious, while his boots muddied sinking into the spongy dirt. He felt a bone break beneath his weight, and a shudder crept up his spine. He kept running.

The tree line came closer and closer, and blocked out some of the impending light, which made navigation a heck of a lot easier. Finally Ed's eyes had adjusted fully, although the ground was still alien to him because he flatly refused to look there, regardless of how much that would speed things up. The last thing he needed was his annoyingly squeamish psyche to interfere with another meltdown. Even with his memories of Al returned, his mind was weak. Numb.

The word 'damaged' crept in to that pool, followed closely by 'broken', but he crossed those out immediately.

He breached the edge of the field. And at last felt a small tinge of relief, which subconsciously slowed his aching legs. Leg and a half. Actually, leg + 0.2 leg, he remembered calculating that once. He'd been really bored at the Mustangs' (as per usual) and sat down with a ruler and figured it out, exactly how much leg was left.

Now there were leaves crunching under his feet, twigs catching on every bit of available clothing. He only realized that his hair was loose when it began collecting leaves. He tore off a shred of his shirt and held it in his teeth as he clapped, then with a touch transformed it to a suitable hair tie. At this point Ed was seriously considering just cutting it all off. Or at the very least, a bit shorter.

He could not be mistaken for a girl again. Never again.

The sun's hesitant rays, still not yet directly produced, hung in subtle clouds in the air, drifting through the canopy of leaves above. In a different time, and a different place, Al had called a scene like this one beautiful. Edward supposed it could be, in someone else's eyes. Al…

Ed managed to keep his emotions in check for now. He was doing really well, he thought. It was weird to look back at his own reaction to Al's death, and all that time spent at the Mustangs', now that he had it in context. It was plainly bizarre to think that losing Al had… done that to him. He remembered Roy saying once that amnesia was a side effect of the drugs. Freaking things. He hated them now more than ever.

Thinking about it, he hadn't needed them since the second explosion.

Amnesia. Shock. If he thought back to the hallucination or whatever it was that he experienced in the time following the second explosion, he distinctly remembered a broken femur. A visible femur, then poorly mended with his own alchemy. There'd been doubtless countless other injuries that had affected him, scarred him.

But since he'd remembered, he'd been able enough to cope, right? He'd done well enough, compared to these last years. Pills aside, the past few days, weeks, perhaps months, were far more exciting, stimulating….

He tripped over an exposed tree root as the scary thought entered his mind. What if he was getting better only because of the action? The thrill, the danger, the motions and defiance and violence?

What could he possibly do if he were to be actually dependent on this chaos? Al… wouldn't be pleased, certainly. Without him here Ed had no inhibitor to his temper, no calm to his storm. Everyone, everyone else was a fuel source to his reckless behavior, didn't they see? He needed Al. The pang of loss, in all its practical meaning and detached from its previous circumstantial connotations, hit him hard in the stomach. It was unlike before. Not a rock in his soul or a sting behind his eyes, but a heavy ache that spread throughout his body. It flowed through his veins and arteries, disguised as the very liquor of his life because now the two were indistinguishable. The absence of Alphonse was a part of him, persistent, ever-present, but now taking resigned residence in his deepest being.

He had nothing to do but move forward, carrying the change with him.

What a metaphor it was, this lousy hunting trail that wound stupidly and nonsensically across the forest floor. It tripped him up, pulled and teased at him, but it was the only way that lead to his goal. And without it, he would be lost.

And not a stone's throw away, he heard voices and saw the clear warm light of a fire among the morning's somber dawn.

**-philos**


	36. Chapter 36

Roy was going to kill him.

Roy was going to_ kill_ him.

If he wasn't already dead when he found him, he would actually _kill that little-_…

…He sighed, shoulders slumped. He was getting too old for this. And as life-shatteringly horrible as that was, he was certain that upon entering a completely empty safe-house this morning, he'd gained at least a dozen grey hairs. Not that he was going grey, of course. Roy Mustang did not go grey. His pride simply would not allow it, for one.

Once he'd walked in and seen the empty couch, the quiet walls, he'd known. He knew that Ed was gone and it wasn't a question of why he'd left but when and to where. Those were solid, concrete facts, and didn't involve delving into the mind of Edward Elric. Ed's psyche didn't matter right now, because clearly the kid was out of his mind.

Roy slammed the door to the little building, search complete, and set out through the field of corpses. He still avoided looking at their blank faces, or lack thereof, out of habit. He had worn a path through the field, after having gone back and forth so many times, that wove around every pile and limb, and went by it now with a familiar dexterity.

He pulled his glove tighter against his fingers. Into the battlefield we go.

IEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIE

Edward was suddenly surrounded by people. People yelling, moving around with purpose, laughing with their friends. After isolation, it was both relieving and nauseating. Between all of the commotion, no one paid him too much attention as he slipped into the fray. Sooner or later he knew someone would pick him out, if not for his age (which was actually not too uncommon) then for the fact that he was dressed in completely different clothes from literally everyone else. He saw a few black undershirts, but not jackets, and his leather pants weren't exactly inconspicuous. At least now it was still pretty dark, with only the trickle of sunlight over the hills, the remaining embers of what looked like a very large fire, and a few individual lanterns providing any light. The black would buy him a dozen more minutes of discretion at the very least.

Or it would have, if he hadn't at that moment bumped into Jean Havoc. _Please, don't let him recognize me-_

"Ch- Edward?" Shit.

Ed did the only sensible thing for a person to do then. He ran.

"Chief?! Edward Elric!" Havoc's confused calls faded into obscurity as he lost himself in the tangle of people. This wouldn't work anymore. He ducked into a tent, hoping that whoever owned it was busy outside. The frantic wish made sense enough, seeing as the entire Amestrian army was out there.

For whatever reason, he was lucky just this once. It was empty.

Not only was it empty, but it had a lot of stuff in it. Everywhere, clothes were strewn across chairs, possessions spilled out of half-packed satchels, and random items littered the floor. Somehow, he had lucked out and infiltrated the one tent holding everyone's non-battle necessary things.

There were clothes. Amestrian military, current issue uniforms. Edward asked no more questions and took the closest pair of pants that looked about his size. If he'd thought about what that meant he might've realized a little sooner that not very many men out here were the size of a thirteen year old child, but he was in a hurry. He only registered after they were secured around his waist that these were, indeed, a woman's pants.

It was then that Edward Elric stopped giving a crap.

He did investigate a little, though, and found 'Burns' embroidered on the left thigh. With a smirk and a clap, the name read 'Elric'. He thought about it, and changed it to read 'Miller', then 'Mustang', and finally back to 'Elric'. He was supposed to be here anyway, and it wasn't like the tag was to serve any purpose other than for identification after death. Might as well have his real name there.

**-philos**


	37. Chapter 37

The wind was howling. It was dark and cold on the Amestrian border, and the air was heavy with fog and anticipation. The moon rose high in its fullest stage, but only brief glimpses of it could be caught through the dense layer of low-hanging clouds. The troops sat in wait, huddled into the ground with arms at the ready. Soon, many of them would be falling into the same ground, burying their broken necks and bleeding hearts into its unforgiving solidity. Everyone knew that they could, and probably would, find themselves in graphic scenes of carnage sooner or later. And still, they were ready for the fight.

Edward crouched low, grouped with three other soldiers, halfway hidden behind a scraggly bush. The frigid weather had not been kind to the flora and fauna up here, and their bush like many others was missing the majority of its leaves. They were scattered onto the hard dirt around them, rotting into the frost.

Ed grit his teeth, resisting the incredible urge to shiver. It was so damned cold and he had nothing but his black undershirt on, leaving one bare arm exposed and on the other his metal port was siphoning freezing cold directly into his shoulder. He thought he saw traces of frost on the automail. He hadn't really considered his arm when he'd decided to keep only the undershirt, but it was obvious now, in the flashes of moonlight, that his arm reflected light in a nearly proportional manner to the behavior of a mirror. When the light hit it in the right way, it glinted like a second sun through the scarce branches of the bush. Damn, if it hadn't been so new it wouldn't be this polished. Winry must've really honed her skills over the years and figured out a trick or two, because the metal just wouldn't lose its initial gloss.

He felt the tension coming in waves from the group around him. They were probably not so glad to be stuck with him in their group. Going solely on appearances, he was a runty teenager with injures indicative of someone entirely accident-prone (which was only half true) and a metal arm that would give away their position no matter where they hid amongst the wasteland. He maybe hadn't exactly told them about the whole 'alchemist' thing, but he figured it was a better surprise that way. And he really didn't know who he could trust not to go to the Drachmans with that information.

He could at least take out a couple of them before that little factoid got out, right?

The wait was maybe the worst part of this operation. Ed had been fine with the bustle of getting into squads and doling out supplies and arms, but ever since they finally got into position, which felt like it had been hours ago, the restlessness had slowly been building. He was not good with not moving. It wasn't in his nature to no move. The fact that he had gotten by with just rubbing his hands, shuffling his feet and shivering for this long was deserving of a medal, truly.

Just as Edward thought he might explode from this tension, a commotion broke out just on the periphery of his night vision. The enemy had come at last. It was time to deliver a walloping.

IEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIE

Roy Mustang was not having a good day. The next encounter with the Drachmans was going to happen in less than an hour, maybe less than a few minutes, and that circumstance was really only putting a strain on everything else that was currently going entirely wrong. Edward was still nowhere to be found, despite him having searched through seven of the closest bases. How anyone could miss a flaxen midget with a metal arm and extreme, chaotic alchemic prowess; he had no idea.

With the battle looming so closely, he was stuck at a post between two major fronts of attack. The higher ups had given him a team of six top tier soldiers for this one; by the look of them, it seemed like the caliber of the top soldiers was dwindling as more and more of them were eliminated. He recognized none of their faces but one shared a last name with a woman with whom he'd shared a previous assignment. She'd been the one who he had seen sliced cleanly down the middle by a ruthless soldier. Roy wasn't able to kill him after, and it was one of his biggest regrets on the battlefield.

The cold of winter was blowing in with full force, and the heavy clouds threatened freezing rain. If that were to happen, the Amestrians would be one alchemist short on their side and he would likely be killed. Not that he didn't face that possibility every time he went out into the field, but he really wished it wasn't such a prominent threat tonight, of all nights.

He needed to find Riza again, as they had planned to meet before every battle in case it was the last for one or both of them. She most likely could not find him, and he really couldn't leave his post as leader of the squad. If he died here, she'd probably kill him.

Roy knew Riza wouldn't die this battle, and even below any optimism, his realist self was still doubtful that Riza was actually capable of dying. It just wasn't a practical possibility or a feasible situation. A voice in the very back of his mind said, You thought the same of Maes, but he ignored it. Riza was in her element. She was probably safer in battle than on the street.

Edward, on the other hand, was a wild card (in the sense that he wasn't safe in battle or on the street or in his own fucking bed) and Roy was certain that somehow, somewhere, the idiot had found his way into danger. And as soon as the Drachmans appeared, everything would be set in place. Then there would be nothing he could do.

In that moment, a commotion broke out somewhere in the distance. Lights blazed into the dense cloud covering, and the sound of gunfire and screams of death exploded from faraway trees.

Based on the general luck that boy had, he had a feeling he knew where Edward was.

IEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIEIE

As soon as the first gun fired, Ed was running. It didn't even register immediately that he was running. But there he was, legs pumping and breath heaving more with anticipation than enervation. When that had processed, he began to chastise himself for being a huge wimp and running away from the first sound of battle.

That was when the second realization came. He wasn't running away; he was running toward the fight. Maybe all that sitting still had finally driven him completely insane.

He looked back to see what was happening at his original post. The squad he'd been put with were standing at a distance from their hiding place, shuffling toward the mêlée like they knew they were supposed to be there but really didn't want to die today. Smart soldiers.

He didn't slow as he made these observations, and when he looked forward again he noticed that he was more than halfway to the source of all the gunshots, screaming, and chaos. It sounded like an awful heck of a party, and he was already putting together seals in his mind that would activate through his palms. Each one that ran through his head became progressively more and more complex as he fell back into his old groove. He brainstormed subconsciously until he came up with the right arsenal for this fight.

In twelve more paces, he found himself on the edge of the battle. There weren't many surprises. The Drachmans not only outnumbered the Amestrians, but physically each one outmatched the average Amestrian soldier in height and width. The foreigners had different and more widely arrayed weapons as well, including at least a dozen different types of sword, double that variety in guns, and an open miscellaneous category that included everything from spears to chainsaws.

Edward remembered briefly that in all the time he'd had, he hadn't mentally prepared to kill anybody in the slightest. It was too late to care about that as he was already leaping to the middle of the fray.

After all of his plans for clever uses of alchemy, he was confronted too early to even clap. A man with paper white skin and greasy dark hair was face to face with him, toting a spiked club that swung around nearly into Ed's skull. As a result, he had to resort to punching the guy in the face with his automail fist. He felt the man's nose give way into a squishy pulp, and the force of it continued until the upper teeth and both cheekbones followed suit. He reached up desperately with a wavering hand, but Ed kicked it away and removed his hand only to punch the man again in the stomach. It was a little high; two ribs had to break before he reached any organs. The club fell to the ground, and soon after its owner did the same.

Edward moved his hands to clap, but was rudely interrupted by a bullet whizzing past his ear in conjunction with a spear diving for his shoulder. He spun around to kick the spear owner in the crotch, which was foolishly unprotected, and landed a punch on the stunned man's jaw. It cracked and half of the bone was displaced beneath his fist.

He looked up from the defeated man to a dismaying ratio of blue to black. The Drachmans were doing about as well as the Amestrians in battle, but more crept in from the shadows to replace the fallen. Edward clapped his hands, ready to even out this fight.

**-philos**


	38. Chapter 38

Okay. Okay. This was getting ri…ridiculous.

Even Ed's thoughts were exhausted. Though his fighting was still passing the bar for 'good enough', his strength was failing faster and faster.

He dodged under the spinning blade of Chainsaw Man's chainsaw, kicked the legs out from another man, this one having a large pistol, and narrowly missed getting shot in the head for the hundredth time.

Finally able to take a moment to do so, he clapped for only the third time this fight. Blue light spilled out into the clearing; it briefly overpowered the white moonlight and the flashes of gun fire, and Edward saw a few pause in its appearance, but otherwise the battle carried out around him. Ed placed his hands on the frost-coated ground, determined not to be inconsequential, and pulled out a short spear. Not too fancy, but the death made it hard to concentrate.

There were several things going on around him at all times, and the only way he could really sufficiently keep up was to label the individual events as 'good' or 'not good', then store them for reflection.

The way one foe after another went down quite easily with the addition of the spear was 'good'. The new Amestrian troops who had found their way to this front of the battle was 'good', but mixed with some 'not good' when he saw Havoc and a young man he'd seen a lot at Central Command enter in with the dozens. It was definitely 'not good' when that same young man was almost immediately shot through his left eye and then left to stagger into Chainsaw Man.

It was 'not good' that Ed was now slowed to the point of barely meeting the same standard as the Drachman men. And these were markedly low-bar soldiers. He hadn't thought that his physical state would affect his ability this much, but the pounding of his heart flouted any cockiness he might've had. The muscles were weakening, quickly.

A woman of Amazonian proportions swung the blade of a crudely constructed bayonet toward his neck. He ducked to avoid it, but the evasion very abruptly became a fall as his legs gave out from under him. Well, one leg. The automail left leg locked at the knee and stayed completely upright as the rest of him collapsed. It wasn't a graceful sight, to say the least, as he nearly fell face-first to the ground and then stumbled forward two paces, only to actually fall on his face.

Still half-dazed and lying prone on his stomach, he heard the whir of that stupid chainsaw from above his head somewhere. Immediately he rolled to the right, just as a spinning blade came crashing down into the frozen ground where he'd just been. His golden eyes met for a brief moment with the coal black of the Drachman weapon specialist. Then, he was rolling further away at the fastest speed he'd ever rolled and the large man was in pursuit.

Ed flipped around to his knees and then to his feet, and was running again. Every muscle hurt as he clapped his hands and watched his right arm become a blade. He'd intentionally made it a little longer than usual for more leverage. He skidded to a bare stop as he turned on his heel, facing the opponent.

The saw was inches away from his nose in less than a second. He utilized the adrenaline currently pumping through every vein in his body and managed to move faster than the larger man. He ducked below the saw in what ended up being almost a backbend. He whipped forward, pushing his modified arm foremost with what momentum was left.

Suddenly he was elbow deep in gore as his alchemic blade pierced through the entirety of the man's torso. The chainsaw fell as its master's fingers went slack. Edward couldn't see his face, but he heard a choking sputter from the man's mouth and hot, thick liquid spilled into his yellow hair. Ed shuddered and yanked on his arm, letting the man's body collapse to the ground.

Ed spared a glance to assess the man's face. Beside the blood coating his lower jaw, there was no tension in the muscles and the light was gone from his coal eyes. He was dead.

He couldn't stay too long to look at the corpse as new opponents loomed in at every corner. His tired brain sensed the threat and came up with a moderately idiotic idea.

Having at some point modified his automail back into a hand, he didn't remember when, he put his palms together and dropped to the ground. The seal popped into his head almost without thought. Things started happening rather quickly once his hands made contact with the frozen crust of the ground.

First, his alchemy came into play. The ground itself cracked open to form a large, mouth-like gash. It fractured out from his hands in a thin spider web that widened as it approached his enemies, until it opened up beneath them and swallowed a half-dozen whole at first, followed by double that number as it widened. A few of them had only just registered that they should be yelling before they were gone, into the blackness.

He continued the reaction with teeth of ultra-compacted dirt and rock that jutted out from the walls of the cavern, which immediately clamped shut on anything within its walls. In the seconds after the gargantuan jaw had sealed over, there was a terrible dead silence in Ed's ears. With the seam in the ground perfectly and unnaturally smooth now, it looked like it had never moved at all. He felt bad that their bodies would never be returned to their home or even to their own country, though they were within a mile of the border.

Ed slumped to his knees, drained completely. He glanced around and found that the Amestrian side was no longer hopelessly outmatched, though they weren't even close to having an advantage. Glad, to have helped a little.

His ears pricked up at some noise in amongst all the battle. It didn't quite click in his brain at first, and even when he did lock onto the sounds that were out of place, they didn't make sense. It took a moment for him to recognize that the harsh yelling was in Drachman.

But he could pull out one word easily from the rest of the gibberish, as he'd heard many times before in uncountable dialects in a myriad of regions spoken with a multitude of tones, from jubilation, to hatred, to sorrow. It was one of those few words that really meant anything anymore.

Shouting Alchemy, as though the word were treason or fire.

Someone was evidently onto him, and he was fairly sure that it wasn't to congratulate him on killing a bunch of their soldiers.

Edward took this as a signal for his 'exit, stage left' and tried to rally some strength for a getaway. Knees on the ground became feet on the ground became thud thud thud of boots on the ground that were far too heavy and getting heavier by the second. He couldn't seem to find the edge of the battlefield. There was only gunfire, and bodies, and bloodied frost, and death death death everywhere his eyes could reach in their frantic search for an escape from the madness.

In his pursuit for escape, he spotted a flash of copper red among the sea of chaos. He was certain, at first, that it was blood on the ground or blood in his eyes or fading consciousness or some combination these that caused the distraction. It wasn't.

The red was high off the ground, higher than most men would stand. It was followed by terrified green eyes and a familiar scar and oh fuck, it was Creek Miller.

Ed needed to get out. He could feel the exhaustion gaining on him, as his muscles were being powered now solely by adrenaline and mental fortitude, which was giving out piece by piece. But his mind wouldn't stay still, and kept noticing things about the situation that he was now apparently facing and he ran.

Edward didn't even notice his direction had been altered before he was halfway to Creek. He was too distracted by the tangible things in front of him, like the four visible bullet holes in the giant's leg, or the way he was clutching his chest with panic, or the way he'd been cornered by three large Drachmans. The only thought Ed could really synthesize about all of this was that Creek was a good person at heart and really shouldn't be here.

Involving himself was a mistake. Creek was bound to die anyway, and Ed would be far better off if he turned and ran. He was in no condition to do anything to help.

So in the end, it was just another 'not good' circumstance of his stupid heroism that spurred his feet into taking him to the middle of the fight, instincts forming a blade from his hand and

Another dead man was hanging off of his arm, having been stabbed through the back and straight into the heart. The Drachman went rigid then slack, only momentarily confused about why he was suddenly looking at a blade sticking out from his chest, before all sensation faded. It certainly wasn't noble, but it only took a moment's glance at the man's own blade, inches away from Creek's neck, to amend any moral qualm he might've had.

The other two who'd been in the group surrounding Creek didn't see what had killed them, either, and Ed could say with confidence that the element of surprise he'd had was the only separation between life and death for both him and Creek. If he'd actually had to fight them legitimately, there was no question that he would be found hours later and identified by the label on his female pants.

After pulling himself almost together, he assessed the condition of the taller teenager. The redhead was trying to look thankful, but seemed too shell-shocked and in pain to really pull it off. His usually tanned skin was pale to the point of competing with the gentle snow falling around them.

Snow. He hadn't noticed it before now-

Pressure launched into his back. The world of loud bangs and screaming and dying he'd been deaf to for a few moments came back in full deafening force. He turned, stupid and numb, but didn't find anything too unusual behind him. Just the usual blackness at the border of his vision and blurriness of warring figures. Nothing wrong, so he looked down. It was funny, but he didn't remember wearing his red coat today. He guessed he was, though, because when he looked down he saw a lot of that color, though most of it was on his flesh hand after he pulled it away from his chest. He felt cold.

And then he felt nothing. It was actually kind of relieving.

**-philos**


	39. Chapter 39

_Thump. Th-thump. _

Ed's first conscious thought, His head was hitting a metal thing.

Second thought, Body tied up, on floor. Moving floor.

And finally, He wasn't dead. Somehow. Again.

How that kept happening, he honestly had no clue. But hey, new situation to survive in and probably risk death again, so, Time to deal with that.

Now that the initial pain in his head had calmed down a little, helped by the cool floor beneath him, he began to really feel the tremendous dull stabbing ache in his back. He remembered fuzzily, like a dream, the pressure in his back right before his senses had faded. Shot? Had he been shot? With a gun? Amazing. Just fantastic. He was jostled a little and the movement, especially near the right side of his upper spine, caused flat agony. He felt it through his chest; to the core, it seemed, of his very being. And then – it faded again. He took a deep breath, and both lungs functioned. By some miracle, the bullet hadn't hit lung nor artery. The only problem now would be imminent infection and the possibility that the bullet was still inside of him. It was so cold – freezing, on a metal floor, that he was numb enough to not really feel the stinging surface pain of the entry (or exit?) wounds.

His passing out made him wonder whether the bullet had had some kind of tranquilizing effect. It was likely, considering it looked now like the aim hadn't been to kill him, but to capture and take him somewhere. Even flat on the floor, he could sense the angle of elevation, and knew beyond a doubt that they were on some remote pass through the Briggs Mountains. Why they were taking him to Drachma, he couldn't say exactly. Something to do with him being an alchemist.

From his quick and somewhat sloppy initial evaluation, noting quickly that he couldn't see anything at all because he was in a solid black darkness, he derived that he was on some kind of rudimentary transportation, more like a horse-drawn-carriage than train or car. The floor of it, which he was now very closely acquainted with, was metal and thickly solid, cool against his cheek in the brief interludes between bumps in the road.

With that thought, he felt suddenly airborne, and then his skull came crashing down in reverse effect to that hard, cold surface. His eyebrow-forehead region got the full brunt of it and he felt the skin split. An urge to groan arose in the white stars of blinding pain, but he fought against it. He might not be alone in the darkness, and couldn't afford to show any more weakness.

He didn't know if he could truly handle any more humiliation, either. He'd been in a lot of… _compromising_ situations, especially in the last few weeks, or months, or years or whatever it had been. Over and over again, he kept messing up, hurting everyone else. He just felt so fucking _helpless_ all the time. Needy. Pathetic, mostly, and especially in front of _Mustang_? Mustang! His commanding officer, the bastard with the fetishistic superiority complex, Edward had let _him_ of all people into the darkest corners and most vulnerable-

Someone kicked him, hard, in the ribs. So, not alone then. He responded by kicking out their legs and then delivering a blow – in his own mind, of course, because in reality his hands and ankles were bound tightly, and he was still seeing stars from hitting his head yet again and also he might've been crying a little out of pain or frustration or both. He was doing a very good job, in all, of appearing menacing to this new party.

"Hey, you awake? Elric? …Hey, pipsqueak-"

"Shut the hell up, Ice Freak." Ed rolled over the best he could. He was addressing the one and only Trentin West, the mediocre Cliché Alchemist from the training camp. Because, out of all the people on this big green planet, Trentin West had to be the one to end up trapped in the same kidnappers' carriage as Edward. And speaking of somebody who had seen him in a lot of compromising situations. Ugh.

"Oh, so you are awake. Coo-" The 'l' was only half formed when he was interrupted.

"If you say 'cool' or make one singular ice pun I will break you." Ed grunted as he achieved something resembling a sitting position, propped up against what felt like a wooden bench. It was rough and splintery, the seat of it about level with the back of his head now that he was upright. The other alchemist was, from the sound of his voice, sitting on the bench opposite. Ed wondered how much more comfortable it could be than the floor of the carriage. Even sitting on the bench, that giant was probably hitting his head on the ceiling anyway. What a freak.

"So, uh, are there any other creepily silent parties sitting there in the dark or is it just you, Snow Queen?"

"Just you and me. You were out for a while; from what I can guess, we're almost to the first Drachman city by now. I had to wait for some sign that you were awake before I initiated conversation," he explained sourly. His voice was rougher than Ed remembered, and he sounded like he was in some kind of pain.

Ed didn't know him well enough to know how good he was at masking that sort of thing (which, usually, was a profile characteristic he had some knowledge of when it concerned an acquainted fighter), but he was aware of the man's pride from their past encounters. That alone let on that he was under a great deal of grief, to let any sign of it into his speech.

"You could've cleared your throat or something instead of giving me a heart attack, you know." His teeth grit involuntarily as he received a reminder of his own pain; his right shoulder blade had brushed a little too hard against the wooden bench. Somehow, that incited the beginnings of a severe headache in the front of his skull.

"My apologies for not thinking of your _feelings_ first, Fullmetal. Would you like to continue bantering now, or would your emotional state allow us to talk about our current situation?"

Ed sighed. In truth, he'd probably rather keep talking than even acknowledge that this carriage had to stop moving at eventually. But it would, and sooner rather than later. So, strategy it was.

"Alright, have it your way, gigantisaur."

"Earlier, if I put my ear against that wall," he paused, and Ed inferred that he must've gestured pointlessly in some direction. "I could kind of hear what the two guys up front were saying. Mostly they complained about some guy named Chip, but I could gather that they're goal is to take us to the capitol, and our purpose there has something to do with us being alchemists. I don't know if they actually captured any others.

"My plan right now is to escape when they come to a rest stop at this first town," he finished with a tone of finality, implying he knew this was their only option and his request for confirmation was only a formality. Ed had other ideas.

"Well, sorry, Frosty, but you're suggesting we put ourselves on the opposite side of a mountain range, in the middle of winter, stuck completely in enemy territory."

"You've got a better plan?" Even in the dark, the smirk came across audibly. He paused for a second, in thought. Ed could imagine him stroking his chin. "Maybe we could bust out now, but it's a long way down the mountainside, and I figure I won't heal until at least we get to the first stop."

"Nope. We," he grunted, stopping to readjust his position both for comfort and dramatic effect, "are going straight to the Drachman capitol."

West paused for a full minute, and Ed was actually mourning the loss of being able to see the man's mouth open and close in shock, confusion, or anger.

"But, that's where they want us to be!"

"How convenient that is for us, then."

"I was told, in my training, that you were brilliant, if unorthodox or overenthusiastic at times. But I'm convinced now, that you've gone completely insane, right?"

"Shut up and listen, unless you want to be the Yeti of Briggs."

"I'm impressed. You combined the height- and ice-based jokes into one. Alright, what's the plan?"

**-philos**

**Reaaaally late on the update. Sorry, life took over for a bit. Hope you enjoy this much at least. Ed's alive, yay**


End file.
